The Monster's Child
by frostygossamer
Summary: Sam was a boringly regular guy. Best friend and sometime step-brother Dean was something different. When a hunter comes along they hit the road. Turns out to be a long journey. AU Sam/Dean unrel slash full SPN cast no OCs NB suicide dub-con mpreg COMPLETE
1. Prolog

Summary: Sam was a boringly regular guy. Best friend and sometime step-brother, Dean, was something different. When a hunter comes along, they hit the road. It turns out to be a long journey. AU Sam/Dean unrel slash, full SPN cast no OCs. Warnings: suicide dub-con mpreg.

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><p>AN: Just so you know: No Sam or Dean death, dub-cons are gentle and not graphic, no long mpregnancy. This is quite a long fic for me, but chapters will be short. Also, all characters that have dialog are 'played' by cast. So they all have faces, which pleases me somehow. :)

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><p>The Monster's Child (Chapter 1: Prolog) by frostygossamer<p>

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><p>My name is Sam Campbell. I remember there was this little game we played at high-school. Some annoying kid thought it up from some movie. I think his name was Gary.<p>

It went like this:

One night some guy or chick turns up at your door, maybe in the middle of a thunderstorm, all freaked out and screaming at you that they've been bit by a werewolf, vampire, whatever. At full moon they're gonna turn into a goddamn monster. The torch waving villagers, the hick sheriff and his redneck deputies, the Men in Black, whoever, are close on their tail.

They need your help. It's life or death. Only you can save them.

Kids throw a bunch of names at you. Gary liked movie characters. For each one the choice you gotta make is:

_(a) Invite them in, give them a stiff drink and keep them there until the authorities arrive._

_Cos that's the right thing to do, and, well, it's not your problem._

_(b) Give them food, money, your car, and keep the authorities busy at the front door while they make their getaway out the back._

_Cos everyone deserves one break._

_(c) Get the food, money, and your guns, jump in the car with them and head over the horizon._

_Cos, hell, your old life wasn't exactly a thrill a minute anyways._

I always picked (a). I'm that kinda guy. Boring. But when reality struck, I chose (c).

And I have no regrets, not one.

This is my story.

-~=O=~-

Sam was born in Kansas, in a quiet unassuming little town. He lived there with his widowed mom, Mary. They lost his dad when Sam was about 6 months old. He barely remembered him. Sam was an average boy with a healthy interest in both sports and bookwork. He played football and chess. He was eight years old when he first met Dean Winchester.

Dean was officially twelve years old, when he and his daddy John arrived in town to stay. But he had missed a heck of a lot of school and so ended up in Sam's grade to catch up. Till then, Dean and his daddy had lived a travelling life, moving from town to town with John's work. John was a mechanic. Dean latched on to Sam the very first day and they were soon inseparable, even though they were like Summer and Winter. Dean, of course, was Summer.

Dean was a cute-looking kid. He soon had Sam's mom eating out of his hand, and spent all his time around at Mary's, doing homework, playing computer games and watching TV. Mary liked to have Dean eat dinner with them. She worried that John might not be feeding him too well. Mary was a real sweetheart.

Their friendship slowly drew Mary and John together, and when Sam was thirteen, Mary and John got married. The truth of it was, John wanted to make sure Dean would have someone, if anything should happened to him. John was a man's man, a former marine and a little rough and ready, but he had always been very protective of his little soldier.

In the year Dean turned eighteen, something did happen to John. He was hit by a truck while driving home from the repair shop one night, and Mary was a widow again. Dean was devastated, but Mary and Sam tried to give him all the comfort they could.

Pretty soon Dean was talking about taking off to travel the country and look for work. Mary worried for him, but she didn't want to stop him. Dean had wanderlust in his veins. He had been brought up that way. So Dean kissed Mary on the cheek one last time, hugged Sam goodbye and hit the road.

Not that it was the last time they saw him. He kept in touch. He even came home once in a while, Christmas, New Year's, and birthdays when he remembered. And he called and sent postcards. Dean's step-family couldn't replace John, but they were his lifeline.

Sam grew up and finished high-school. Then, some time later, Mary got sick. She began to fade real fast. When Dean called, Sam couldn't hide how upset he was. He didn't want to worry Dean, but his step-brother could tell something was wrong. He insisted on coming home, and he sat with Sam in the hospital on the night Mary died. Sam was glad he came. He didn't know how he would have gotten through it without Dean's support.

After that, Dean went on with his life. Sam got a job in a bank and started to save. Sam had plans, plans he shared with a pretty fellow employee Jessica. They planned to take off and go east, Thailand, Bali, Borneo, the backpackers' heaven. Jess was keen to spend time volunteering to 'Save the Tiger'. Sam was keen to spend time with Jess. Meantime all their spare cash went in their travel fund.

Sam hadn't a care in the world back then. This is the story of how Sam learned what it meant to care.

-~=O=~-

One day, out of the blue, Dean walked in Sam's bank and asked to speak to him in private. He was surprised that Dean would come see him at work, and not wait for him at home. He had a key to Sam's place, after all.

"So what's the deal, dude?" Sam asked.

As they sat alone in one of the banks' little interview rooms, Dean explained that he had a problem. For the past month or so he had been followed, stalked maybe. He hadn't noticed at first, but then a hotel clerk had mentioned that someone had asked after him, and he began to see the same face over and again.

"Dunno who this guy is, but he's gotten me antsy, Sam," Dean explained.

He knew that he had crossed a few guys over women, and some of the casual work he had taken hadn't been exactly legit. Could have been an angry husband or a heavy or a cop. He didn't want to confront the man without knowing what he wanted, or what he might be capable of. He was hoping that Sam could find out something about the guy for him first.

"Maybe you could have a chat with this guy, kinda casual? Try and find out what he wants, huh?" Dean pleaded.

Trust Dean to get in trouble. Sam agreed to help. Hopefully he could talk this guy out of whatever he was planning, or find some other way to placate him, pay him off maybe. If he was the law, Sam could maybe speak on Dean's behalf. Whatever, he would do his best to sort it out.

"Sure," Sam agreed. "Course I will. That's what friends are for, right?"

TBC

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><p>AN: Sam doesn't know what he's letting himself in for. Next chapter we meet the mysterious stalker. Update coming soon.


	2. Hunter And Hunted

Summary: Sam was a boringly regular guy. Best friend and sometime step-brother, Dean, was something different. When a hunter comes along, they hit the road. It turns out to be a long journey. AU Sam/Dean unrel slash, full SPN cast no OCs. Warnings: suicide dub-con mpreg.

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><p>AN: Greetings reader! I'm glad I got you interested enough to continue. Now we're going to meet the villain.

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><p>The Monster's Child (Chapter 2: Hunter And Hunted) by frostygossamer<p>

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><p>So that night Sam went to the bar where Dean had seen the guy the previous night. He recognized him from Dean's description. He was sitting on a barstool, talking on his cell phone while nursing a beer, no doubt waiting for Dean to appear.<p>

"Yeah sure, Mr. T. I'll call you when it's done. Meantime just hang loose. OK?" he said, before closing his phone.

Sam sat down beside him at the bar and ordered a drink.

"How about this weather?" Sam remarked, making small talk.

"Someone up there don't approve of somethin', I guess," the guy answered, with a toothy grin.

Sam chuckled. "What about last night's game, huh?"

"Yeah. One helluva close result," was the reply. "Weather didn't help none."

Sam nodded his agreement. "Name's Sam," he said casually. "Yours?"

"They call me Spooky Kubrick," the guy told him, shaking his hand briefly.

Kubrick had ordered some food, and when it came, he motioned Sam to a booth where they could continue to talk while he ate.

"Spooky's not my birth name, you understand," he explained. "What they called me in the slammer."

"You were in prison?" Sam asked, unsurprised.

"Just got out," Kubrick confirmed. "Served twenty-five years for murdering my sweet wife, Michelle."

Sam must've looked kind of shocked at that, because Kubrick hastily backtracked.

"But I didn't kill her, no sir. Innocent."

Sam nodded. "Sure. All cons are innocent, huh?"

Kubrick growled. "No sir, didn't harm one hair on her pretty little head," he insisted. "Intruder. That's what killed my Michelle. Some son of a bitch got the hell in and took her sweet life. But the cops, they wouldn't believe me. They said no human being could have gotten in and out like that, without leaving a trace. No HUMAN being."

This was not looking good. This guy was an angry ex-con, a dangerous guy.

"And that," he continued, "was cos the bastard that killed Michelle was no human. I know. I fought it. Tried to protect her. But I got hurt and knocked out cold. The thing was a monster in human shape. Know that now, but didn't know it then. The damn five-oh said I had gotten injured from beating on my wife."

This was starting to look real bad. This guy wasn't just a hard case, he was crazy.

"But that wasn't it. We hunted down that damn thing. Me and my buddy. And we found it. Wasted its ass. Then they came and arrested me, for Michelle. Told them the truth. Told them what me and my buddy had done. But he'd hightailed it outta town and I never knew what he'd done with its damn body."

Kubrick pushed away his empty plate and stretched.

"In prison I did a lotta research into the paranormal. Found out the monster that killed my Michelle was what they called a 'werefright', a monster in human form. Vowed when I got out I'd get vengeance on that damn werefright and its kind for the twenty-five years I lost, and for Michelle. Mean to track down and destroy each and every one of the sons of bitches."

"So who died and made that your business?" Sam asked snarkily.

"Ya could say I'm on a mission from God," Kubrick replied, with a grim chuckle.

Well, now Sam was sure that the guy was a total nutjob, and a homicidal one at that. He was kind of concerned that a nutcase like this seemed to be following his friend. So he decided to fess up and ask Kubrick why in the hell was he following Dean.

"So why Dean?" he demanded. "Dude, my friend's not gonna help you find your werefright obsession. He doesn't know any more about the occult than I do."

The guy leaned back and guffawed like a howler monkey.

"That what you believe?" he laughed, "Well, then it's high time you found out the truth."

"What goddamn truth?" Sam demanded.

"Exactly what he is becoming," Kubrick replied. "Exactly what the hell you been calling a friend, goddammit. Your good buddy Dean is a monster, man. He IS a werefright."

Sam was so shocked he almost laughed. "That's crazy," he declared. "Just come from him, and he's as normal as you and me."

Kubrick chuckled. "Go find him," he said, "and get him to try these three little tests."

He told Sam three stupidly easy and ridiculous tests.

"Then see what you think. And when you know he's a monster, bring him on back to me and I'll give him what he deserves."

-~=O=~-

Sam went home in a quandary. He found his step-brother in his kitchen, drinking strong black coffee and looking like hell.

"You spoke with the guy?" Dean asked, trying to hide the worry in his voice.

"Yeah," Sam replied, pouring himself a jolt of java, before sitting down at the kitchen table beside his friend. "Spoke to him. And you were right to worry. He's a total wackjob. Reckons he's some kinda exterminator with a mission to track down and rid the world of scary bogeymen. And, get this, he's convinced himself you're one of them."

"So he's just some kinda wacko?" Dean asked, slightly relieved.

"Sure, but he's a wacko that packs a gun, and right now he's got his sights on you," Sam retorted. "We gotta go to the cops with this, Dean."

Dean looked dubious. "Don't wanna involve the cops," he said unhappily.

"The guy's a psycho, Dean," Sam insisted. "Look. Lemme show you the damn stupid tests he wanted me to do to prove that you're not human."

Sam rummaged around and came back with a bottle, a small box, the stub of a candle and matches.

"Try this," he said, pouring a drop of liquid in a glass.

"No way am I touching that," Dean declared.

"Dude, it's garlic oil. No big deal."

Dean scowled. "Taste's like ass," he said.

"Seriously? Man, I know you hate garlic breath, but..."

"Makes me barf. Every time. In Technicolor."

Sam made a face. "TMI, dude."

"Guess I'm allergic or something."

"Hmm. Unusual, I guess, but not conclusive."

Sam opened the little box, which contained his late mother Mary's silver crucifix on a chain.

"OK. So this is Mom's silver cross. Lemme just put it in your hand."

"Ooh ya!" Dean exclaimed, dropping the chain and shaking his hand.

"It burns?" Sam asked, putting the chain back in its box.

"Nah. More like frostbite, man. What you trying to do?"

"That was pure silver, Dean. All it was."

"Dunno. Static or something?" Dean suggested feebly.

Sam sighed. "May as well try the last one."

He set the candle on its end and struck a match.

"Lean in close," he told Dean.

"Sure," Dean agreed, complying.

"Crap. There it is!" Sam exclaimed when he spotted a flicker pass over his friend's eye.

"What?" Dean demanded, jumping back.

"Lean closer," Sam insisted. Dean cautiously complied again.

"The hell?" Sam declared.

Dean looked worried. "What's the damn problem?" he demanded.

Sam leaned back and ran a hand through his hair.

"You've grown a third eyelid, man," he gasped. "Now THAT is NOT normal."

Dean sprang to his feet and began pacing distractedly. Sam stared down at his hands for the longest time trying to figure out what to say, what to do. Dean WAS infected? Suddenly he made up his mind.

"Dean..."

"What in the hell does any of that crap prove anyways?" Dean interrupted, sounding shaken.

"...grab your stuff!"

That was the day Sam made the biggest decision of his life.

TBC

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><p>AN: So Dean's turning into a monster, and a hunter's on his tracks. Not good!  
>BTW Can't believe I've had to ask FF to add Kubrick to this category! He seems to have been unfairly neglected considering he had TWO eps.<p> 


	3. Running Scared

Summary: Sam was a boringly regular guy. Best friend and sometime step-brother, Dean, was something different. When a hunter comes along, they hit the road. It turns out to be a long journey. AU Sam/Dean unrel slash, full SPN cast no OCs. Warnings: suicide dub-con mpreg.

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><p>The Monster's Child (Chapter 3: Running Scared) by frostygossamer<p>

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><p>"My car's been acting up lately. We'll take the Impala," Sam told Dean, unlocking the garage where John's old car was kept in mothballs.<p>

John had died in that car, of a broken neck. But it was his baby and Dean couldn't part with it. Instead he'd repaired it and stored it at Sam's place, until he was ready to step into it again. Now was the time.

Dean ran his hand across the dashboard. "Dad loved this car," he murmured.

"Well, mine's been temperamental, so she's got my vote," Sam replied, throwing both their bags and his laptop in the back. "I put gas in her tank and she's ready to go."

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

He started the engine and pulled onto the road. Sam locked up the garage and jumped in the passenger seat.

"Where we headed?" Dean asked, as they drove away.

"Anyplace," Sam replied. "Just put your foot down and drive. We'll find some random motel for tonight and tomorrow we'll make plans. OK?"

"OK," Dean agreed.

-~=O=~-

It was pretty late when they finally stopped at a shady motel and got a room. Sam made sure the clerk didn't see Dean. When they got in the room, Sam logged on to his laptop and sent a couple emails, one to his boss with his resignation and one to Jess. He told her the trip to Thailand was off, and claimed back his share of their vacation fund. He was going to need it.

"You gonna be much longer?" Sam shouted to Dean, who was in the bathroom.

Soon as Dean came out, Sam went straight in. Finding Sam's laptop still logged in, Dean took a sneaky look at his friend's email. Sam had a girl named Jess? And they were planning a vacation? Maybe a honeymoon? Who'd have guessed?

When Sam re-emerged, they sat at the table and googled what they could about that scary word 'werefright'. There wasn't much. What they did find sounded bad enough.

Apparently the werefright was an old-fashioned Eastern European backwoods monster, in the tradition of the vampire and the werewolf, and their like. Their M.O. was to attack innocent travellers alone on the road, rip their hearts out and gorge on their still-warm blood.

They were also supposed to persecute innocent maidens and the simple-minded, driving them stark crazy or to suicide, or sometimes their victims just died of fright. Sam found one page that claimed the same one had haunted a certain village in Croatia for almost two centuries.

None of this deeply melodramatic stuff sounded good. Sam and Dean looked at each other. Dean's face was blank, but his eyes were wide. He was overwhelmed. Sam wished to hell they'd left Google alone.

"Kubrick is an asshole," he snapped. "He just plucked something off of the net and tried to play us for suckers. Let's just forget it."

He closed the laptop lid. Dean wasn't convinced by Sam's fake dismissiveness.

"The guy's no conman, Sam," he said. "He didn't try to get money outta us or nothing. He believes this is TRUE. You know it. He may be a wackjob, but that doesn't mean what he says is ALL crap."

Sam frowned. Dean seemed to be taking this thing too seriously. Sam would have tried to make light of it, brush it off, but it obviously cut Dean deep. Maybe Dean had had his doubts already? Sam didn't want to think about that.

"Look," he said. "I'm gonna go get us some food. You have a shower and get in bed. You're tired and hungry. Tomorrow this is all gonna seem way better."

Dean nodded, sat down on the bed nearest the door and started to pull off his boots.

"Sure," he murmured.

After closing the door, Sam paused on the step for a moment, debating whether he should really be leaving Dean alone right then.

"We'll talk about this when he's had a little sleep," he thought.

He got in the Impala, drove back to a little take-out place he'd notice on the way to the motel, and got Chinese food. It only took about forty minutes altogether before he was back at the motel.

-~=O=~-

As soon as he opened the door, Sam cursed his stupidity, leaving Dean alone. His friend was sitting on his bed with his pistol at his temple, hand steady as a rock. Sam dropped his Chinese food and inhaled sharply, feet rooted to the spot.

"Don't try to stop me, Sam," Dean said, his voice as steady as his hand. "It's better this way. Better I take myself out than take an innocent life."

"We don't know any of this is true, Dean," Sam insisted. "We haven't got all the facts. It could be..."

"I'm gonna turn into some mindless brute," Dean continued coldly. "Some sick, crazy animal."

Sam launched himself across the room, knocking the weapon from his friend's hand and landing in a heap on top of him. He struggled to sit up while keeping Dean pinned to the rug.

"No, Dean," he yelled, "This is not how it goes down. You're not gonna give in to this goddamn insanity."

Dean turned his face to the side, avoiding Sam's glaring eyes.

"I am freakin' DOOMED, man. Sooner or later it's gonna happen. Better sooner than later," he said.

Sam shook his head vigorously. He grasped Dean's jaw and forced his friend to look up at him.

"Never on my watch," he growled.

-~=O=~-

Dean slept fitfully, and Sam kept one eye on him all night long. In the morning Dean seemed to have gotten over his funk of the previous night some. Over breakfast they made plans for their next move.

It was Dean's idea to go visit with the couple who owned the horse ranch where he'd got casual work the previous summer.

"The Jorgeson's were great people to work for. Very good people. They told me to come visit any time. We can rest up there a while until we decide what to do."

"Great," Sam replied.

It seemed like a good idea to take Dean to stay with down-to-earth friendly people, who would help him to see the hopeful side of things.

-~=O=~-

On the drive down, Sam tried to question Dean on how he could have contracted this damn werefright-ism.

"You remember getting bitten by anything?" he asked.

"Like some big, hairy old werewolf maybe?" Dean chuckled humourlessly.

Sam smirked. "Dunno. Maybe a weird-ass bat, or an overeager Goth chick, huh?"

Dean shook his head.

"Could be some kinda infection?" Sam suggested.

"Use protection, Sam. Always have."

Sam laughed. "If it's an infection, it's gotta have a cure. Those horror stories are pre-penicillin. Antibiotics might do it, something."

"Yeah," Dean agreed.

But he didn't sound any too convinced.

TBC

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><p>AN: Sam is finally realizing what he's taken on. He's going to be on a rollercoaster ride.


	4. Dog In The Manger

Summary: Sam was a boringly regular guy. Best friend and sometime step-brother, Dean, was something different. When a hunter comes along, they hit the road. It turns out to be a long journey. AU Sam/Dean unrel slash, full SPN cast no OCs. Warnings: suicide dub-con mpreg.

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><p>AN: I understand that there are people out there who really hate Bela. If you're one of them please don't worry about her appearing in this chapter. She's one of many cameos and won't be sticking around for the rest.

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><p>The Monster's Child (Chapter 4: Dog In The Manger) by frostygossamer<p>

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><p>The ranch was a big spread, a beautiful place. Apart from the owners, there were only a couple of regular employees, steady guys if a little nuts. They were welcomed with open arms by the Jorgesons, a nice, affable, middle-aged couple. Dean's mood improved immediately. The first night, everyone ate together in the main house.<p>

"We're very pleased to meet you, Sam. Call me Harley and my wife here is Stacey," Mr. Jorgeson said. "Dean told us a lot about you when he was here."

"Really?" Sam was a little surprised.

"Oh yeah, Dean talked about you all the time. The stuff you both got up to as kids. He's kinda proud of you, you know."

Sam felt a little embarrassed. Dean chuckled beside him.

"Can't blame me for being proud of my little brother," he said.

"We're not actually brothers," Sam told Stacey Jorgeson, slightly miffed at being referred to as 'little'.

"Oh yeah, we know," Stacey replied. "Step-brothers. Your mom and his dad, wasn't it. I was sorry to hear about your mom, Sam."

Sam smiled sadly. "It was sudden."

"Umm," Stacey murmured.

"How've things been since I was last here?" Dean asked, sensing Sam needed to change the subject. "Business doing OK?"

"Well, yeah," Harley answered. "Things picked up again pretty quick after that problem we had with the wild animal attacks."

Dean dropped his fork. "Animal attacks?" he queried.

"Yeah, we lost a couple prize foals. It was just about when you left us, Dean. Some kinda wolf, coyote, something."

"Oh, it was such a shame," Stacey chimed in. "Such beautiful animals. What a waste."

Dean shot a glance at Sam who subtly shook his head.

"Guess that's a problem you're gonna get," Sam suggested.

"Not really," Harley replied. "Never had any problems like that here before. Not in my lifetime."

-~=O=~-

Later that night, Sam was getting ready for bed in his room in the guest house, when Dean popped by.

"That stuff about the animal attacks," he said. "Don't like the sound of that. You don't reckon...?"

"No, Dean," Sam retorted. "Just wild animals. Nothing to worry about. Just go to bed. Get some sleep."

Dean looked anything but ready to let the subject drop.

"Dude, we don't know how long this werefright thing has been going on. Coulda been, well, ME."

"Dean, you like your steak well-done. And since when did you eat horse meat anyways?"

Dean frowned. "Just sayin'."

Sam sighed. "Look, Dean, tomorrow I'll ask around. Get some more facts on this. If I can prove to you some animal did this, promise me you'll let it go?"

"If," Dean responded darkly. "If."

-~=O=~-

The next day Sam brought up the subject of the two savaged foals with the two ranch workers, Harry and Ed.

"Yeah," Ed said, scratching his stubbly chin. "Harry and me stayed up a couple nights. See if we could catch the varmint. Never saw nuthin'."

"Yeah, nuthin'," Harry agreed.

"And it never came back?" Sam asked.

"Nah, never did. And it was way back, just about when your friend Dean left. No sign of the dang thing since then."

Right then a dinky little car drew up, and a pretty, dark-haired girl got out of it.

"Hello Harry, Ed, handsome stranger," she said with a smile.

She had an expensive accent, clearly educated at some fancy private school.

"Hi Bela," Harry and Ed answered together, grinning like a couple sappy teenagers.

"This here's Sam, Dean Winchester's friend. You remember Dean Winchester," Ed snickered.

"Do I," Bela replied, laughing. "I'm pleased to meet you Sam. I'm Bela, the Jorgesons' daughter."

"Oh hi," Sam responded. "Didn't realise the Jorgesons had a daughter. Dean didn't mention you."

"Oh he didn't, did he? I'm so hurt," she giggled. "Well, I never did take Dean for a kiss-and-tell guy."

Sam chuckled. "Dean can keep a secret when it suits him."

"Are you staying long?" Bela asked, as they walked back to the main house.

"A week maybe," Sam hazarded a guess.

"Then maybe I can take you to see the Toppings," she suggested. "It's a local beauty spot a couple of miles from here."

"Sure," he agreed. "Never turn down a chance to gaze at a little beauty."

Bela giggled coyly.

-~=O=~-

And so it was that Sam and Bela ended up on the summit of the Toppings, taking in the breathtaking view.

"When I was a child I used to think this was the most beautiful place in the world," Bela said, a big sunny smile adorning her lovely face.

"It certainly is stunning," Sam agreed, gazing around.

"I used to think I'd like to be buried here," she added, on a more sombre note.

She wandered over to a grassy bank, where a half overgrown stone nestled in the undergrowth. She began to tear away the weeds that covered it.

"That's why I chose this spot to bury poor Cerberus," she said sadly.

"Cerberus?" Sam queried. "He was what? Your dog?"

"He was," Bela replied. "A Rottweiler cross. He was such an angel, most of the time. It turned out he had a mean streak though."

"A mean streak?"

"Yes. It seems he couldn't be trusted with the stock. They turned him crazy."

Comprehension hit Sam suddenly. "Crazy like a wolf, crazy like a coyote, crazy like a wild animal?"

"Yes."

"So it was Cerberus that took out those two baby foals, huh?"

"Unfortunately. After the second one I had to put him down. It broke my heart. I couldn't tell my parents what he'd done. Mother was so upset about the foals. I told them he'd run away."

"Bela, I'm really sorry. I know it must've been hard for you to make a decision like that. To take the life of something you care about. I'm not sure it's something I could do."

Bela smiled up at him with a little tear in her eye.

"When you know it has to be done, then you know you have to be the one to do it, no one else."

Sam nodded grimly. That was something he deeply agreed with. He hoped to hell it wasn't a decision he was ever going to have to take.

-~=O=~-

When they got back to the ranch, they found Dean grooming a chestnut mare.

"What's with you and sweet-talking the ladies, dude," Sam yelled cheerfully, as they approached.

Dean laughed. "Where you two been all afternoon?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Up on the Toppings," Bela replied.

"Bela takes all her romantic conquests up on the Toppings, Sam," Dean joshed, making Bela giggle.

Sam stepped up beside Dean. "We've been visiting the grave of Bela's favourite dog."

"Cerberus?" Dean asked. "Been wondering what happened to that mutt."

"Seems he went rogue and mutilated some stock," Sam explained.

Dean was silent for a moment. "That dog? I always liked that dog."

"Yes, he was such a sweetie," Bela agreed sadly, turning away to avoid tearing up again.

"So it was just the dog," Sam emphasized.

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "This time it was the dog."

TBC

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><p>AN: Panic over. This time. More drama soon.


	5. Brief Encounter

Summary: Sam was a boringly regular guy. Best friend and sometime step-brother, Dean, was something different. When a hunter comes along, they hit the road. It turns out to be a long journey. AU Sam/Dean unrel slash, full SPN cast no OCs. Warnings: suicide dub-con mpreg.

* * *

><p>The Monster's Child (Chapter 5: Brief Encounter) by frostygossamer<p>

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><p>There was a supply of veterinary antibiotics at the ranch, so Sam figured out a course of shots for Dean. Maybe that would do the trick. Couldn't do any harm. Dean began to hope they had cracked his problem. Maybe it would be the cure he needed.<p>

They left the ranch behind, after nearly a month, because Dean was starting to feel kind of antsy staying in one place. Sam decided it was time to move on.

Dean kept on driving, with their backs to Sam's home town, until he needed to pull up and refuel, both car and occupants. He dropped Sam off at a little Mom and Pop diner, while he took the Impala to look for a garage.

"There's some kinda clunk going on," he explained. "Gotta get a look at her before we take off again."

Sam nodded and went in the diner. He was starved.

He had been sitting at a table by the window of the diner for a half hour, sipping a beer and perusing the menu, waiting for Dean,when he was suddenly aware of a presence at his side. Glancing up he recognized the stony face of Kubrick.

"Jeez," he gasped. "How the hell you find me?"

Kubrick laughed. "Followed ya from your breeder friend's place," he explained. "Took me a few weeks to find it. Didn't notice the tail, huh?"

Sam cursed. He glanced slyly out the window, praying Dean wouldn't turn up right then. Kubrick flopped down on a chair across from him.

"You been wondering how I found out about your boy I guess," he said.

"Sure," Sam agreed. May as well keep the guy occupied by listening.

"Had this buddy, you see," Kubrick began. "Best pal. His name was John, John Winchester."

Sam gasped despite himself. His step-dad, Dean's dad, was this nutjob's buddy?

"Know that name, huh?" Kubrick chortled. "Me and John used to hunt. Deer. Moose. When that THING, that werefright, got my Michelle, he was right there to help me track that mother down. And goddammit we found it. We iced it's ass."

He leaned back in his chair and snickered.

"But John was a fool. A loyal fool, sure, but a soft touch for young 'uns. Didn't have idea one the thing had spawn. John found it hid in a closet and he kept quiet. Took one look at it's cutesy, ickle face and closed the damn door on it. But I knew he was keeping something from me. Slapped him around some later till he came clean. If the cops hadn't come for me, woulda found the damn thing and finished it right then."

"John saved its young?" Sam asked, amazed. Couldn't be Dean. Couldn't be a monster's pup.

Kubrick nodded angrily. "Soon as I got out, found out John had gone on the road, with a kid. I knew. So it's my job to off the thing, my job to waste it and all its freakin' kind. And so long as I got breath in my body, gonna exterminate their freakin' asses, starting with that pretty-boy of yours, starting with HIS freakin' neck."

"So Dean is the kid of that creature? The werefright that killed your wife?" Sam demanded. "He wasn't turned, bit, whatever? He was BORN that way?"

"Yeah," Kubrick responded. "The damn things look human. Up to twenty-five, twenty-six, they totally pass for human. Then they 'transform'."

He put a lot of disgust in that last word.

"After that the monster comes out in all its glory. I wrote John from prison and gave him the facts, but, damn fool, he reckoned they deserved their twenty-five good years. Libertarian wuss. Pity he died before it was old enough. Who knows if he woulda had the cojones to finish the job. Me, I figure a monster's a monster. They deserve crap from us."

Sam ground his teeth. "I'm with John," he declared.

Jumping to his feet, Sam snatched up his chair and smashed Kubrick over the head with it, then took off out of there. Kubrick crumpled to the floor, out cold.

-~=O=~-

After Sam collected Dean and the Impala from the only garage around, they blew town without looking back.

"What that hell happened?" Dean demanded. "Never got to eat."

"Nor me," Sam replied. "Kubrick turned up. Followed us from the ranch. He had more of his story to tell."

Dean stared out the rear window. "He behind us right now?" he asked worriedly.

"Nah," Sam responded, smirking. "Smacked him over the head with a chair."

Dean grinned. "Way to go, dude!" he applauded.

They drove until neither of them could see the road, and then they broke into an empty, isolated house and raided their fridge. After filling their stomachs they retired to bed. Sam took the master bedroom, which overlooked the driveway, and Dean took a smaller one in back.

-~=O=~-

Sam was awoken after midnight from a strange dream of flying, by the sound of a body being dragged and a feral sigh. Or at least that was the imagery left in his half asleep mind by his confused senses. He lay stiff and listened. The house was silent, silent as death.

Sam relaxed. He told himself that he should be more careful what he ate before going to bed. Indigestion can play tricks on the mind... What was that?

Beyond the bedroom door something stirred.

Sam wished profoundly that he had locked his door against the silence in the hall. But as he did, the door slowly opened, agonizingly slowly, and something slid in the room, at floor level. Sam held his breath. He lay still. He didn't know what reaction a sudden movement might elicit at that moment. He had a werefright on his floor, and werefrights were man-eaters.

Sam shut his eyes, tight, and prayed to no one in particular. He was acutely aware of the smooth shape that slid up and over his body. Warm, damp breath dusted the skin of his bare arms. A long, wet tongue traced the outline of his collarbone, where it showed above his T-shirt, and the sinews of his neck.

Sam automatically turned his face away from the touch, exposing more of his neck to the prickle of sharp teeth. An unconscious hiss escaped his lips. The teeth hesitated. After one anxious inhale they were replaced by the rasping tongue. He was being... tasted.

What do you do when you're being sniffed over by a bear, a wolf, a big-cat? Play dead? Fight? Holler blue murder? What do you do when the creature checking you over is your best friend? Electricity coursed through Sam's body, jangling his nerve endings. He struggled to control his breathing.

"Keep calm," he thought. "Keep still. Don't scare him. Don't hurt him; he won't hurt you. He won't. Not if you let him. Just let him..."

The weight shifted on the bed as Sam's dark visitor moved to slide the comforter off of Sam's hips, down his legs. It fell with a soft thunk to the floor. Blunt nails scraped lightly over his thighs. Firm hands wrapped themselves around his boxer-clad hips. He felt himself being gently eased onto his stomach. He allowed himself to be rolled over.

Questing fingers, tongue and lips mapped his back, his butt, his legs, over his clothes. Sam loosened up, as much as he was able, and spread himself over the mattress loosely, in a clear signal of submission. The dark weight covered him. He was conscious of the way their bodies fitted together momentarily.

And then he was rolled over again, onto his back, and without seeing, he knew that a face hovered a hairsbreadth from his own. Their breaths intermingled. He was breathing Sam's essence. Sam was breathing his. The breathing stopped.

A cold shock of fear ran the length of Sam's spine. If his visitor meant to kill him, rip his throat out, imbibe his blood, it would be now, at this moment. Well, so be it. Sam tilted back his head, surrendering his throat.

"Make it quick. Now," he thought wildly.

Silence filled the moment, silence and then aloneness. The weight had quit the bed. The intruder was gone.

Sam released a long sigh of relief, or was it disappointment, or was it a whimper of frustration.

He turned onto his side and curled in on himself, a sudden chill stinging the sheen of sweat which covered his trembling body.

He had never been more afraid.

TBC

* * *

><p>AN: Not technically dub-con but things have certainly got heavier. More soon.

Also, FF has just added Kubrick to the category for me. Yay!


	6. Telltale Grey

Summary: Sam was a boringly regular guy. Best friend and sometime step-brother, Dean, was something different. When a hunter comes along, they hit the road. It turns out to be a long journey. AU Sam/Dean unrel slash, full SPN cast no OCs. Warnings: suicide dub-con mpreg.

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><p>AN: Late with this chapter cos I couldn't log in to FF yesterday.

* * *

><p>The Monster's Child (Chapter 6: Telltale Grey) by frostygossamer<p>

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><p>Sam awoke suddenly just after dawn. His eyes flew open, and he found himself studying the ceiling in confusion for a few seconds, before he came to his senses. He rose from his bed, feeling strangely exposed and vulnerable, despite still being clothed in T-shirt and boxers.<p>

He grabbed a plaid shirt, and slipped it on as he tiptoed out into the hall. He walked in the kitchen, put a pot of coffee on the stove and steeled himself to go look for Dean, hoping and praying that he was still in the house.

He found Dean curled up tight in the corner of his own room, naked, cold and apparently fast asleep, or possibly unconscious. Sam took the comforter off of his bed and draped it over him, taking care not to wake him.

He walked back to the kitchen and poured himself a mug of coffee, black, not the way he normally took it but he seemed to need it that way. He sat at the table and ran a hand through his dishevelled hair. He felt drained, washed out. He drank the coffee and then went to the bathroom to throw some cold water on his face.

The chill of the water was harsh but refreshing. Sam glanced up at his reflection in the mirror and gasped in shock. His face was drawn, ashen, and there were definite streaks of silver in his hair. Grey that hadn't been there the previous day.

He ran to the room he had slept in and dressed hastily. He grabbed his jacket, wallet, keys and headed for the door. He needed to get out, needed to think.

-~=O=~-

Sam headed to a diner that doubled as a bar. He ordered a whiskey. The pretty blonde bartender, Jo from her name badge, glanced at the clock. This early? Really? But then she took in Sam's haggard face and relented. She poured him the drink and Sam knocked it back. Jo chuckled and poured him another.

"On the house," she said. "Looks like you need it."

Sam smiled weakly. "You could say that."

"Heavy night?" the blonde asked solicitously.

"You could say that," Sam repeated, ending the conversation.

Sam moved over to a booth and sat down heavily. He put his drink on the table and spread his big hands on the cool surface as if to steady himself.

"It's not so bad," he thought. "I'm not dead."

"Poor boy," a voice cooed from behind him.

He half turned to see an attractive older waitress standing just behind him, with a concerned look on her kind face. Her badge announced to Sam that her name was Ellen.

"I recommend something greasy for the morning after a late night on the sauce, kid," Ellen suggested helpfully. "The Breakfast Special should do it. It's kinda heavy on the grease."

"Sure," he smiled back. "Why not?"

Now that he thought about it he could definitely eat an entire horse. He groaned and Ellen gave him a knowing smile.

"OK," she said. "One Breakfast Special coming up," and she patted his hand.

An hour later, Sam left the diner with a full stomach and somewhat restored spirits. He studied his reflection in the diner window. Looking better. More his normal self. He would pick up some spray-on hair dye for those telltale greys on the way back.

He could live with this.

-~=O=~-

When Sam let himself back in their squat, clutching the little bag from the drug store and a paper sack of groceries, he found Dean laying on his bed in the back of the house, fully dressed. His eyes were open, but he seemed to be deep in thought, and showed no signs of having noticed Sam's approach.

"Dean," Sam said. No response.

"Dean!" he repeated louder. Dean turned toward him, his face blank.

"You want me to make you some breakfast? I ate already."

Dean stared at him for a moment, then seemed to snap out of it.

"Uh? No. No need. I'm good," he replied flatly.

Sam forced himself to smile. "That's crap," he said. "You need to eat. Trust me. It helps."

He returned to the kitchen and fixed his friend a hearty meal. Sam sat down across from him and watched him eat, unable to keep his eyes away from those hands that had last night touched him in intimate places, those lips that had breathed hot on his jugular. Dean showed no signs of remembering what had happened the previous night. He seemed to have returned completely to normal, but his demeanour betrayed a certain air of confused unease.

When Dean had finished eating and put down his fork, he looked over the table at Sam searchingly for a moment.

"You sleep OK last night? Cos...," he trailed off uncertainly.

"Sure," Sam quickly cut in. "Sure, Dean, I was fine last night. Last night was fine."

-~=O=~-

Now he had had time to think, Dean needed to ask Sam what Kubrick had told him back at the diner. Sam would have given anything not to have had to tell him, but Dean could sense he was holding something back.

"Spill it," Dean demanded. "I know Kubrick told you some stuff. You said in the car. And it wasn't about the weather or the price of wheat. It was about ME, right? C'mon. I need to know."

Sam was using his laptop on the couch. He was trying to find out how they could get themselves some fake id, so they could disappear before Kubrick caught up with them again.

"Nothing you need to know," he remarked casually, continuing to type.

Dean walked up behind him and slammed his laptop shut.

"Hey," Sam yelped.

"Tell me," Dean demanded, sitting down beside him. "Got a right to know everything."

Sam sighed. "It's just..." How could he do this without making his friend crazy?

"He said that John Winchester was his buddy," he began.

"Dad?" Dean asked, in disbelief. "His buddy? That guy? No way."

"Yeah. That's what he said," Sam insisted. "And the monster that killed his wife, the werefright... He said it had..." He hesitated to call it spawn to Dean's face. "...a child."

"A kid?" Dean asked, his face betraying his disgust at the idea.

"John took pity on it," Sam continued. "He snuck it away, saved its life and, well, brung it up."

Dean's expression changed. "Brung it up?" he repeated.

"Uh-huh," Sam confirmed.

Dean stared at him blankly, unwilling to comprehend what he was being told.

"John wasn't your real dad, Dean," Sam explained. "But he saved your ass. He gave you a chance. He loved you, man."

"This is one crock of doo-doo," Dean spat. "You're not telling me I was BORN a monster. No way! Why the hell would Dad not've told me?"

"Guess he would've, Dean, but he was waiting till you were old enough you needed to know. And then he died before he got around to it."

Dean stood up and started to pace.

"Can't get my head around this," he exclaimed. "This is not happening."

Sam knew he needed to calm his friend down before he started to freak out.

"Listen, Dean. Maybe it's true. But it doesn't have to be hopeless. You're OK now. There must be something we can do to keep you that way. We can slow down the transformation. Even stop it. Maybe even reverse it."

Dean was breathing fast. He was starting to lose it right there in front of him.

"No, Sam," he growled. "You tried and you got it wrong. You may as well give up on me. There's no such thing as hope for what I am. I'm a goddamn animal, some kinda inhuman thing, not a man. God knows what I could do. God knows what I mighta done already. You call the cops, they'd blast the hell outta some mindless man-killer like this, some blood-thirsty ghoul, some flesh-eating goddamn fiend. You can't psych up for something like that. There are no meds for it. There's only one way out."

Sam jumped to his feet, grabbed Dean by the shoulders and shook him.

"Don't talk that way, dude," he objected. "There's ALWAYS hope. You are NOT some animal. You got a GED, for God's sake."

Dean just shook his head sadly.

"Dude, we need a drink. C'mon," Sam insisted, and he dragged his friend out to find a bar.

TBC

* * *

><p>AN: So much for hoping for a cure. More ASAP.


	7. Meet The Boss

Summary: Sam was a boringly regular guy. Best friend and sometime step-brother, Dean, was something different. When a hunter comes along, they hit the road. It turns out to be a long journey. AU Sam/Dean unrel slash, full SPN cast no OCs. Warnings: suicide dub-con mpreg.

* * *

><p>AN: Late again. Hope they've fixed FF this time.

* * *

><p>The Monster's Child (Chapter 7: Meet The Boss) by frostygossamer<p>

* * *

><p>They had a few drinks in a bar, and Dean calmed down some. It was a lot to take in, the revelation that he was not and had never been human. But the presence of normal people going on with their normal lives around them seemed to make their situation somehow less painfully real. For now.<p>

Sam tried to keep Dean's mind off of that can of worms by talking about the id he wanted to source and where the hell they should go next. They couldn't stay in that squat forever. The owner could come back anytime. Dean said he knew a guy, someone not exactly unconnected, who maybe could fix them up with id.

After a couple hours, Sam got up to use the john, and when he came back in the bar Dean was gone. Sam hoped to God he'd gone back to the house and he hauled ass there fast.

-~=O=~-

There was no sign of Dean when Sam walked in the door.

"Dean?" he called. No reply. "Dean!"

For some strange reason, the way his friend's name echoed around the house unnerved him. He quickly checked the rooms downstairs. No sign of Dean. So he bolted upstairs.

Dean was laying on his bed, limbs spread out decorously like a dying Romeo. His lips were slightly blue. It didn't look like he was breathing. A discarded bottle of sleeping pills from the bathroom lay by his side, half empty.

"Dean!" Sam cried, running to his bedside.

He grabbed the limp form of his step-brother and shook him impotently.

"Oh God," he croaked. "Dean, you meathead, not this way."

Awkwardly, he hoisted Dean's body into his arms, staggering as he carried him down the stairs and loaded him in the back of the Impala.

He was at a local doctor's office in eight minutes flat.

-~=O=~-

Dr. Death walked out of his examination room. He was a tall, elegant old man with a concerned expression etched on his elderly face.

"Looks like he's out of danger now," he assured an anxious Sam. "I had to use Gastric Lavage." When Sam looked puzzled, he added, "That's a Stomach Pump."

He paused gravely. "But it was damnably close."

"So, can I take him home?" Sam asked hopefully.

The doctor was doubtful. "I've ordered a few tests. I think he may require observation. Was this a suicide attempt?"

Sam thought about his answer. "No, no, Doctor," he quickly replied. "He just mixed up his prescription meds, is all. He'll be fine. Don't worry. I'll take care of him. Won't let him outta my sight," and he gave Dr. Death a fake smile.

"Very well," Death agreed slowly. "If you're absolutely sure. But if you have any concerns at all..."

Sam shook his head. "He'll be OK with me, Doc," he declared firmly, mentally crossing his fingers.

-~=O=~-

Sam sat by Dean's bedside all night. When Dean finally stirred, his step-brother woke with his head on the covers.

"Son of a bitch," Dean swore at no one in particular, angry to find himself still in the land of the living.

"Thanks," Sam replied.

Dean glared at him for a moment, then sighed loudly and threw his head back on the pillows.

"Some day you're gonna wish you'd just let me go," he said, bitterly.

Sam gave him a faint smile.

"Maybe," he agreed. "But right now I'm glad you're back."

-~=O=~-

Dean seemed to pull himself together over the next few weeks. The bald truth that Dean might not be human at all was, in fact, really hard to assimulate. It was easier to ignore it, something that was maybe part of the instinct to survive.

Sam had noticed that, after both suicide attempts, Dean's attitude had become distinctly more positive. It was as if he'd got some of the despair out of his system, temporarily at least.

They drove down to Florida, where Dean had once done some driving work for a shady guy who had mob connections and might be able to help them get Kubrick off of their trail. That particular guy, Dean said, was OK, some of his associates, less so.

The second night they were sitting in a bar enjoying a couple beers, when who should walk in but one of the two wise guys Dean had hoped he'd never meet again.

The sharply dressed young man flopped down on a barstool, and ordered a vodka and tonic. Dean turned and stared anxiously at Sam, but Sam simply returned a puzzled look. Dean gestured with his eyes toward the door, hoping they could get out of there before the guy recognized him. Too late.

"Well if it's not my old friend Dean Winchester," the guy drawled, spinning around on his stool to fix Dean with a toothy grin. "Since when you been back in town?"

Dean admitted defeat. "Hi, Brady. Guess I was doomed to run into you again, sooner or later."

Brady snickered nastily. "The Boss is gonna be glad to see you, Winchester," he grunted, taking out his cell phone. "Last time I heard, he wasn't exactly your number one fan."

-~=O=~-

A half hour later they were sitting in the backroom with the 'Boss', the other guy Dean had hoped he'd never meet again.

"It was just one job, Crowley," Dean insisted. "One delivery. I took the Ferrari down to Reno. Delivered it to the address specified. Handed over the keys and that was it. No questions asked. That was my part of the deal. Don't owe you nuthin'. In fact I reckon my share was kinda short."

Crowley was a small, dapper guy whose smooth manner masked a quiet authority.

He chuckled. "The job is not the problem, Deano. It's not the job I want to chat with you about."

"Then what?" Dean demanded.

"Ruby," Crowley stated, suddenly very serious. "Where's Ruby?"

Dean sucked in a gasp then plastered on a smirk. "Ruby is gone? What? She jilt you at the altar?"

Crowley groaned. "Ruby left two days before the wedding. She didn't run out on me. You took her."

"Listen, Crowley," Dean retorted. "Ruby didn't leave with me. Hell, if she'd asked me I woulda told her she was making one big damn mistake marrying you, but she didn't wanna know. Maybe she just sobered up in time and got cold feet."

"Oh really? And why don't I believe that?" Crowley asked. "Ruby and I were just dandy until you showed up with your perfect damn smile. You really gotta learn to keep your hands off other men's women, Winchester."

Crowley pulled out a flick knife and twirled it in his fingers. Sam didn't like where this was going.

"You saying your fiancee disappeared when Dean left town?" he asked. "You report it to the cops?"

Crowley grinned. "Cops," he sneered. "I don't need police, friend. I'm a fair man. I can deal with your chum here myself."

The flick knife traced a line across Dean's throat, and from the look on his friend's face, Sam knew Crowley was deadly serious.

TBC

* * *

><p>AN: Now they're in a pickle. More soon, if FF stays up.


	8. Cuckoo In The Nest

Summary: Sam was a boringly regular guy. Best friend and sometime step-brother, Dean, was something different. When a hunter comes along, they hit the road. It turns out to be a long journey. AU Sam/Dean unrel slash, full SPN cast no OCs. Warnings: suicide dub-con mpreg.

* * *

><p>The Monster's Child (Chapter 8: Cuckoo in the Nest) by frostygossamer<p>

* * *

><p>Next thing they knew, Sam and Dean were both tied to chairs, with their hands cuffed behind them. Brady was pacing up and down, carefully screwing a silencer onto his gun. The Boss had disappeared someplace. Things looked bad.<p>

"Look, Brady, you don't need to do this," Dean pleaded. "At least let my buddy go. He ain't got crap to do with this."

"He's a witness," Brady muttered, darkly.

"Brady, you knew Ruby. She wasn't exactly a nun. I wasn't the only guy who turned her head. Maybe she left with some other dude."

Brady's face twisted into a scowl. "Ruby was an angel," he growled. "She wasn't any damn heartbreaker, whatever they said."

Sam had been silent for a while, thinking.

"You liked Ruby, huh?" he asked, leadingly.

Brady's face softened at the memory.

"Sure, Ruby was a sweet girl. She was the only one of the club girls who had time for everyone. She always had time for me."

"So you musta been cut up when she said yes to Crowley?" Sam persisted.

"That guy didn't deserve a honey like Ruby," Brady moaned. "He wouldn't've treated her right."

"Not like you woulda, huh?" Sam asked softly.

Sam glanced at Dean. Dean caught on right away.

"You couldn't let her do it, could you, Brady?" Dean contributed. "You had to stop her."

Brady grunted. "She... She tried to say she loved him. I... I..."

He mimed strangling the air, like he was reliving the feel of squeezing the last breath out of his unrequited love.

Crowley stepped in the room from the shadow of the doorway.

"Oh Brady, Brady Brady," he said, shaking his head. "I'd never have believed this if I hadn't heard it from your own lips. You killed my Ruby?"

Brady collapsed on the floor in a blubbering heap. There was a moment when the only noise in the room was the sound of that toad weeping. Then Sam rattled his handcuffs.

"Guess we're off of the hook, right?" he queried.

"Yeah, Crowley," Dean added. "You're a fair man. Guess you should let us go before we wind up witnessing something, huh?"

-~=O=~-

As they climbed in the Impala, Sam heaved a sigh of relief.

"That was damn close," he breathed.

Dean chuckled. "You said it," he agreed. "Damn shame too. Ruby was a great lay."

"Dean!" Sam yelped. "You don't speak ill of the dead."

"What 'ill'? That was a complement," Dean insisted, but then he became thoughtful again. "There was a moment back there I kinda wondered. Coulda been ME, Sam."

"Don't reckon you're Brady's type," Sam smirked.

"Ha ha," Dean laughed mirthlessly. "I mean coulda been me lost control, hurt someone..."

"Wasn't you, Dean. Don't sweat it."

They were silent for a while, until Sam commented.

"Somehow don't figure Crowley was gonna turn Brady over to the cops."

"Nope," Dean agreed, staring at the road ahead. "But sometimes, well, sometimes it's the right thing to do. Put some sick cuss outta his misery. It's the kindest way in the end."

Sam studied his step-brother's profile for a moment.

"Yes, Dean," he said quietly. "I get that."

-~=O=~-

Dean called in to visit with his contact before quitting town. The guy knew better than to ask any questions about why he needed the fake-ass ids.

He was able to supply him with some of what they needed right there. The rest he would send on to them by mail soon as they could call him with an address.

Dean paid him. It took a chunk out of Sam's vacation money but he thought it would be worth it, if it let them drop off of the map and kept Kubrick off of their heels.

It turned out not to be that easy.

-~=O=~-

Once they'd checked into a motel room for the night and were winding down, Sam's cell phone rang. The calling number was unknown. Sam answered it cautiously. Dean was still in the shower, so he spoke quietly.

"Sam here," he answered.

"Hi there, Sammo. It's me, your buddy Kubrick," Kubrick's loathsome voice replied.

"Kubrick, you scuzzbag, whaddya want?" Sam snapped.

"Just want you to know I'm still thinking about you, bud. Got a little bump on the melon. That was pretty damn snaky of you, slugger. Just when I thought we were gonna have ourselves a civilized little chat."

Sam growled. "A civilized man doesn't hunt down and murder an innocent guy, Kubrick."

"That creature is no innocent guy, Sam," Kubrick grunted. "He's not even a guy. Hell, he's not even people. It's just an act, designed to pull you in, dummy. Reckon he cares about you? Maybe you even think he lurves you, huh?"

"He's my step-brother," Sam pointed out. "I oughta know."

"He ain't got no kinda human feelings," his caller retorted. "He's an ANIMAL. And he's got you so wrapped around his little finger that you don't know which way is freakin' up. That's what scientists call cynical, self-serving behaviour."

"Dean's never been anything but straight with me, man," Sam snarled, refusing to believe Kubrick's claims.

The voice on the line chuckled. "He's wormed his way into your brain, guy. He's gonna make you believe he needs you, that he can't survive without you, that he goddamn worships you. And all the time he's feasting on your vital fluids like some parasite. You got yourself a cuckoo, Sam."

Sam snapped his cell closed and stamped it into pieces.

Dean came out of the bathroom in a towel, and gawped at him like he was crazy.

"Tomorrow, gonna buy another phone. Something untraceable," Sam explained.

Meantime he was going to scrape Kubrick's bile off of his brain.

Sam had never before considered NOT trusting Dean. Dean had been his loyal friend for so many years, and his step-brother for several of those. Dean had NEVER made him doubt that trust.

He especially remembered how supportive Dean had been when his mom, Mary, had passed. No monster could fake or mimic that. Why would it even try? There was no way Dean was just an animal, a thing.

Dean might not be HUMAN but he was a PERSON, a person Sam cared about.

TBC

* * *

><p>AN: That Kubrick's like the serpent in Eden. Heh? More soon.


	9. The Naked Truth

Summary: Sam was a boringly regular guy. Best friend and sometime step-brother, Dean, was something different. When a hunter comes along, they hit the road. It turns out to be a long journey. AU Sam/Dean unrel slash, full SPN cast no OCs. Warnings: suicide dub-con mpreg.

* * *

><p>The Monster's Child (Chapter 9: The Naked Truth) by frostygossamer<p>

* * *

><p>When Sam was visited that night, it was just as unexpected as the first time.<p>

Sam woke in the semi-darkness of a moon-lit room, and glanced across at Dean's bed. It was empty. But he wasn't alone in the room. Someone, something was breathing, heavily, at the foot of his bed.

This time Sam thought he knew what he could expect from a nocturnal encounter. He closed his eyes and schooled his jangling nerves to peace, untensed his taut muscles, knowing that he wouldn't be harmed, wouldn't be hurt, just as long as he remained calm. His visitor was a wild thing, nervy as any wild beast.

The dark shape flowed over his body like the menacing shadow of a predator. It bore down on him, pushing him down into the bed, testing its claim on his body, testing his will to struggle against the ownership of him. He registered something nuzzle into the shell of his right ear. He felt the brush of soft spiky hair, like silk, and the disturbing sound of scent deeply inhaled.

Slim inquiring fingers traced the edges of his sleeping clothes, clutching momentarily at the hem of his T-shirt before spread hands slid beneath the fabric, to stroke the smooth skin of his chest. Sam drew in a sudden involuntary gasp, causing the hands to halt for an instant before moving on.

The garment was dragged upward toward his neck, revealing his musculature to the cool night air. Hot, wet breath swept over his flesh causing an unwilling shiver, not from the cold.

"Think about something else," Sam told himself. "Think about..."

He couldn't think about anything but this moment, his body tingling, energized by the proximity of palpable danger. Danger with soft lips, with an agile tongue. Danger with razor-sharp teeth, teeth that toyed with his nipples and his neurons.

So concentrated was his attention on what the mouth was doing to him, he barely noticed the fingers that were testing the waistband of his shorts. Fingers wormed beneath the elastic, twitching over his belly, impeded by the annoying tightness of the barrier.

Something inside Sam protested that he should protect himself from those probing fingers, the unasked intrusion into forbidden places. He found himself fighting the instinctive urge to slap away the presumptuous hand, defend his masculinity from this disregard, this disrespect, this trespass.

That's when Sam made his mistake. He opened his eyes and looked his visitor in the face, in the eyes. Deep into those strange, cold, fearsome, sage-green eyes. The fiend wearing Dean's face stared back darkly, and suddenly Sam felt a pang of primal dread. Dread born from his darkest fantasies.

Something inside him screamed "No!" and, as if he had somehow perceived it, Dean's eyes widened as a cast of panicked fury flashed across those impassive features. He reared up, pulled away and, as Sam automatically raised his arm to shield himself, scrambled up and scattered, like so much smoke torn away by the wind.

Sam lowered his arm and stared at the door. He was alone and Dean was gone.

"Crap," he thought. "Spooked him. Not good."

His heart was fluttering and he dared not go out to look for him tonight. Instead he tried to sleep, shaken and faintly turned on.

-~=O=~-

It had been a little difficult to pretend that nothing had happened. Even though Sam would rather never talk about it to Dean, his friend needed to know why the hell he had woken up in the bushes alongside the motel parking lot, stark naked.

It hadn't been easy to appear nonchalant as he stood hammering on their motel room door at six in the morning, while their neighbours from the next room looked on and muttered together.

"Need to know, Sam," Dean demanded, as he quickly threw on some clothes. "I know that you're hiding crap from me. What the hell is going on?"

"You don't need to know, man," Sam assured him. "Everything is cool."

"Cool?" Dean retorted. "Just the truth. Need the truth, Sam. Can't live with not knowing. Been running around outside at night in the raw. Reckon I mighta flipped and HURT someone, maybe KILLED someone."

"It's not like that," Sam assured him, sitting down on the bed. "It's nothing like that."

Dean growled in frustration. "How much longer you gonna lie to me, Sam? How much longer?"

Sam sighed raggedly. "OK, OK, I'll tell you. Just sit down here and listen."

Dean remained standing, glaring at his friend.

"Dean!" Sam raised his voice a little. "Sit down and let me explain. I need you to be calm about this thing."

Dean grunted and flung himself down on the other bed.

"OK. Shoot," he said.

Sam turned away from him, unable to make eye contact while telling the tale.

"All that happens is... you come to my bed," he explained.

"Your bed?" Dean repeated dumbly. "What the hell you sayin'?"

"It's not like it sounds," Sam insisted. "Or, uh, maybe it is. Dunno. It's just not sexual. At least not regular sex. It's just touching ...and licking ...and, well, sniffing, tasting ...and, I guess, looking, listening. All the senses. It's just like you need to totally absorb me, drink me in, kinda."

He glanced at Dean whose eyes were wide with horror.

"It's cool, Dean," Sam assured him calmly. "I get manhandled a little but you never hurt me, never. Figure it's a kinda getting to know me thing maybe."

Dean opened his mouth and tried to speak. "I... I..."

"Dean, it's fine. I was kinda freaked the first time, but it's cool. I don't mind. I really don't mind."

Then Dean found his voice. "I touched you? Oh God, Sam. Did I... Was it...?"

Sam was silent for a moment. "No, Dean, not rape, molestation maybe. But I don't think you meant to scare me. Guess it's just what you do. I mean, guess it's what a werefright does, why they latch on to someone and stalk them. Figure this is how they bond with someone. Reckon you're bonding with me, kinda. In your own way."

Dean just stared at him.

Sam smiled gently. "But it's OK, dude, cos I consent. It's cool."

After a second's hesitation, Sam reached out and squeezed his friend's shoulder. Dean closed his eyes and shivered with self-disgust.

"YOU had to know," Sam chuckled. "Now you know. C'mon. Let's go get breakfast."

-~=O=~-

Dean seemed to have taken Sam's confession relatively well, once it had sunk in. He was calm, if subdued. They ate breakfast at a diner. Sam found he had a good appetite. Seemed he always did after an encounter with the werefright's sensual aspect. They made light conversation as they ate and afterward they went back to their room and packed their bags.

They had been driving silently for a couple hours, and Sam was just beginning to nod in the sunny warmth of the Impala, when Dean suddenly stopped the car and pushed him bodily out of the passenger door.

"Reckon I've done just about enough," he spat at Sam, and slammed the door shut. "Can't stick around and hurt you, man."

He applied his foot to the accelerator and sped away, swerving across the road like some crazy drunk driver.

A quarter mile ahead of them the road ran across a bridge. It spanned a deep gorge that cut into the landscape like the groove in a monster truck tire.

"No!" Sam yelled after him. "Dean! Stop! Listen to me!"

Dean was out of earshot and driving like a demon toward the sharp drop to the valley floor. There was no way either he or the Impala would survive that fall.

Sam could only stare in disbelief as he watched his best friend speed toward a bloody death. He raked his two hands through his long hair, unable to pull his eyes away from the spectacle he could hardly bear to witness.

Then, just as he was almost too close, Dean slammed on his brakes and span to a messy stop within inches of the edge. Sam ran breathlessly to the car and yanked open the driver's door. Dean was slumped over the steering wheel sobbing.

"Couldn't do it," he gasped, chuckling ironically, "Not in my baby."

"I know," Sam agreed, panting. "She'd never forgive you."

TBC

* * *

><p>AN: So true. ;) More tomorrow.


	10. Pie And Other Food

Summary: Sam was a boringly regular guy. Best friend and sometime step-brother, Dean, was something different. When a hunter comes along, they hit the road. It turns out to be a long journey. AU Sam/Dean unrel slash, full SPN cast no OCs. Warnings: suicide dub-con mpreg.

* * *

><p>The Monster's Child (Chapter 10: Pie And Other Food) by frostygossamer<p>

* * *

><p>Following that little escapade, Sam thought that they needed to go see someone who would make Dean feel better about himself. He remembered an old priest that Dean had spoken about once, a friendly soul, and his sweet elder sister, who kept house for him and had treated Dean like a favourite godson while he had been doing some repair work for them.<p>

"How 'bout we visit with old Pastor Joe?" he suggested.

"Jim," Dean corrected him. "The ex-missionary?" He chuckled. "The Pastor was one helluva poker player and all round good guy. And his sister, I woulda married that old gal for her pie, if she hadn't been old enough to be my grandmom."

Dean chortled to himself at the recollection of her baking. Sam was pleased to see his brainwave seemed to have been a good one.

They headed for Minnesota.

-~=O=~-

After a few hours driving, Dean stopped the Impala right in front of the huge, old house with its front yard planted out with roses. Sam, who had been lolling in the passenger seat, woke with a start.

"We're here," Dean told him. "This is Pastor Jim's place."

The two men climbed the rickety steps up to the front door and Dean rang the doorbell. After a few minutes the door was opened by a grey-haired geezer in a black shirt and pants.

"Hi," Dean said, smiling. "Been a while."

The older man squinted at him for a moment and then the light suddenly dawned in his eyes.

"Dean," he said chuckling. "Been a long time."

"This here's my brother Sam," Dean told him, indicating Sam. "We were just passing by..."

"Oh, come in, come in," the pastor said, beckoning them inside. "Look who it is, Gert honey. Dean, you know, Dean Winchester. The guy who helped me fix the kitchen extension out back last Fall but one. He's here with that brother he used to talk about."

Gert, who was sitting in the parlour, smiled radiantly.

"Come in. Sit down, boys. Jim just put on the kettle to make tea. I got a fresh-baked strawberry pie here. You always loved my strawberry pie, Dean."

Jim came back with an enormous teapot and Gert dished them out big wedges of pie, being especially generous to Sam.

"So how's things been with you two?" Jim asked.

"Fine, I guess," Sam replied.

Gert leaned forward with a kindly smile. "I'm sorry for your loss," she said, patting Sam's knee familiarly.

Sam looked surprised. "I didn't know you woulda heard about my mom," he said.

Dean grinned. "Oh, Gert has a sixth sense about that kinda thing. Haven't you, Gert."

"Sensitive. That's what they call me," she agreed with a chuckle. "I pick up things. That's what I do."

"Picks up too damn much," Jim chimed in. "Folks round here figure she's been eavesdropping on them sometimes, things she comes out with."

The two old people giggled together. "Stick-in-the-muds," Gert chuckled.

After a couple hours of funny anecdotes and assorted baked goods, it looked like time for the boys to be getting along. Dean asked to use the john and disappeared upstairs, while Jim busied himself tidying up their empty cups and plates. Gert shifted herself to sit beside Sam on the couch and took his hand gently. Sam felt a little crowded. Gert seemed to have taken a particular unwelcome shine to him.

"Your brother has a dark road to travel, my dear," she said softly. "I knew it the first time I set eyes on him. He's not like us. I can sense that. But he's closer to you than most."

She leaned back and looked him steadily in the eye for a moment.

"You know, don't you?" she whispered.

"Yes," he replied.

She nodded thoughtfully.

"Then you'll know what to do. He's lucky to have you."

-~=O=~-

They stayed in town for a couple weeks, and they did a few jobs around the house for the friendly old siblings. They played some tricky games of poker with the pastor and he told them some fascinating things about the customs and folk tales of Latin America, where he had worked as a missionary for many years.

Pastor Jim was interested in what Sam had picked up about the folk tales of Eastern Europe, although Sam never told him exactly why he had researched them. Jim had his opinions about the gothic archetypes, the Draculas and Wolf Men, of literature and what they might really have been based on. Despite being a preacher, he was a down-to-earth guy and he was inclined to look for the truth behind superstitions.

Dean kept out of these conversations. They only served to worry him more. It bothered him that Sam and the old-timer were talking around conditions similar to his 'affliction' like he wasn't in the house. He didn't enjoy being the object of scrutiny, even anonymously.

It reminded him of one of his new pet fears: being dragged away to be caged up and studied by some secret government white-coats, like some case from the 'X-files'. He might not be human but he was no dumb animal. Sam failed to notice that he had begun to brood, but Gert didn't.

The sweet old lady walked in the living room, interrupting her brother and Sam, who were poring over Sam's laptop, by plonking down a tray on the table beside them.

"You boys got time for a coffee break?" she asked chuckling.

"Sure, Gert honey," Jim replied, with a grin.

Sam jumped in surprise. "Oh sorry, Gert," he apologized. "Didn't realize the time." He glanced at the tray. "Only three cups?" he asked.

Gert beamed at him. "Dean went on back to your hotel a while ago," she explained. "Said he had a headache. To tell you the truth, Sam, he was looking a mite moody, if you know what I mean."

Sam frowned. "Reckon I'd better go, guys," he said, standing up. "Thanks, Gert," and he hurried out the door.

-~=O=~-

"No, Dean!" Sam slammed his step-brother against the wall, knocking the Bowie knife from his hand. "Not this way!"

Dean was panting, his eyes wild with panic. "It's no good, Sam," he whined. "I can't live like this, a gothic goddamn archetype like freakin' Frankenstein!"

"Victor Frankenstein wasn't a monster, and neither are you," Sam retorted, pinning the shorter man's arms over his head and immobilizing him with his own weight.

"You're wrong!" Dean yelled, and he shoved Sam back with a greater than human physical strength, causing him to lose his footing and tumble backward onto the floor.

Dean was on him in a flash, snarling in his ear like a tiger, his hot breath searing Sam's flesh. Sam struggled to throw him off, but Dean only seemed to grow stronger. He gave an animalistic, throaty chuckle and licked his teeth viciously.

"Let me go, Dean," Sam spoke softly, attempting to calm him down. "Let. Me. Go."

Dean grinned wickedly, his eyes dancing with fire, and he lunged at him. Sam felt Dean's sharp teeth penetrate the muscle of his shoulder, sinking deep and connecting with bone. He hissed at the pain and tried to pull away, but his assailant gripped on like a bulldog.

Sam threw back his head, panting. "Don't kill me, Dean," he whispered. "Not like this."

He felt the bite release, and when he raised his head to look around, he found Dean was gone.

-~=O=~-

The wound bled like a gusher and Sam had to clean and bind it himself. Later that evening Dean returned. He'd clearly spent some time in a bar and had had not a few drinks. He stank of whiskey. Sam was sitting beside the fire reading, when he trailed in.

"Made you a sandwich," Sam told him, without looking up. "It's in the fridge."

"Thanks," Dean muttered, starting toward the kitchen, then he halted. "I'm sorry," he said. "You OK?"

Sam closed his book and turned toward him, wincing slightly as he moved the muscles of his shoulder. He nodded and half-smiled.

"Reckon I proved my point," he said. He doubted monsters apologize.

Dean nodded. "This time."

TBC

* * *

><p>AN: That was close. Sam needs to watch out for those murderous teeth. More tomorrow.


	11. Steak And Ache

Summary: Sam was a boringly regular guy. Best friend and sometime step-brother, Dean, was something different. When a hunter comes along, they hit the road. It turns out to be a long journey. AU Sam/Dean unrel slash, full SPN cast no OCs. Warnings: suicide dub-con mpreg.

* * *

><p>The Monster's Child (Chapter 11: Steak And Ache) by frostygossamer<p>

* * *

><p>Sam decided to suspend his research for a while, and he and Dean said goodbye to the Murphys and moved on.<p>

At first, the bite in Sam's shoulder didn't seem to want to heal. Even after the skin closed over it, it ached and niggled him for a long time. But eventually he forgot about it and it seemed good.

Sam had never seen Kubrick's ride, so when he motored past it, parked at a petrol station, it meant nothing to him. Dean was sleeping in shotgun. Sam woke him, when he stopped about an hour further on, so they could both use the restroom and pick up something cold to drink. While they were in the little store, the sinister car drove on by. Dean, who was staring out the window, recognized it immediately. He choked on his soda.

"Kubrick!" he hissed to Sam, who was settling up with the clerk.

"Where?" Sam demanded.

"Just rolled by in his black Ford Mustang," Dean replied.

"Jeez, I passed that baby an hour back," Sam exclaimed. "Maybe he didn't see the Impala."

"Yeah, and maybe pigs can fly," Dean retorted.

They went outside and got in the car.

"Which way?" Dean asked, wondering if they should turn around and run.

"Either way, makes no difference," Sam replied, resignedly.

So they followed Kubrick to the next town.

-~=O=~-

There was a big-assed steakhouse just after the first intersection, and Dean spotted the Mustang parked in its lot. He pulled in and parked the Impala alongside.

"May as well get this the hell over with," he told Sam, as they climbed out and went inside.

Sam entered the place with some trepidation. Dean was edgy and almost too ready for a fight. Kubrick was sitting in a booth away from the counter, using his cell phone. He waved them over as they walked in. They joined him in his booth.

"Yeah, Mr. T, good as done," he finished his call and closed up his phone, muttering "Crazy fool," to himself.

"Glad you could join me," he told Sam and Dean, civilly enough. "Blue steak sound good, Dean? Or maybe you'd rather just rip the beating heart outta that sweet little girl scout over there."

He jerked his head toward the cute family in the opposite booth. Dean refused to rise physically to the bait. Sam was glad of it.

"Self-righteous fucker," Dean growled. "YOUR hands aren't so lily-white, Kubrick. Who's the real cold-blooded killer at this table, huh?"

Sam chipped in. "Where do you get off persecuting innocent people?"

"Innocent people?" Kubrick repeated sarcastically. "What innocent? What people?"

Dean snarled loudly in frustration.

Kubrick laughed. "Hear that? You totally sure, Sam? You really still believe it? You positive he's worth your damn sympathy? Don't think you're protecting some sorry-ass human cousin who needs your compassion, guy. THIS is a THING."

He glared straight in Dean's face. Dean glared back.

Kubrick grimaced, scratching absentmindedly at his belly. "This werefright is no kinda hominid, no offshoot of the human evolutionary tree, Sam. No sir. They only look like us cos they MIMIC us. Sure they mimic us great, but they learned that from US."

He turned to look at Sam, with a smirk on his face.

"Oh sure, he's got a pretty face. He's a damn work of art. Maybe you think, when he's got those long legs wrapped around you, that he's there because you're his hero, his one true love? You're just his meal ticket. You poor slob. Hell, you're a walking free lunch."

"You gutter-minded jerk," Sam retorted. "I oughta smash your ugly-ass face in. You wanna know why I help him? Cos, if he WAS some freak, he would STILL be more human than you, you filthy bigot slimeball!"

"Son of a goddamn freakin' bitch!" Dean contributed acidly.

There was a telltale click, as Kubrick cocked the pistol he had trained on Dean under the table. Sam stiffened. Surely the guy wasn't going to shoot his friend right there in the steakhouse? The obsessional creep wasn't THAT crazy?

Right at that moment, the restaurant door was flung open abruptly, and two heavyset sheriff's deputies strode in the place. Kubrick hastily uncocked his pistol, as one of the deputies spotted him and came over, followed by his partner.

"Your name Kubrick?" he demanded.

Kubrick raised both hands in the air and smirked. "Guess ya got me, officer," he drawled.

"Uh-huh? Sir, we gotta take you in for Parole Violation," the second deputy explained, as the first deputy grabbed his wrists and cuffed him.

They marched him on out, and Kubrick chose to go along quietly. In the restaurant doorway he paused and turned around.

"Don't think I won't be coming after you, you abomination," he promised with a cold, evil grin.

The deputies tugged him away, loaded him in their patrol car and drove off.

Sam and Dean looked at each other.

"I'd give their response time five outta ten," Dean remarked.

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "After we called them from outside and gave them his number plate and description, I woulda expected them here in under fifteen minutes. Guess they'd gotten themselves some chicken thieves to book first."

Seeing as Kubrick was safely under lock and key, they decided to avail themselves of the steakhouse menu, plus a couple beers, before departing. Dean was a little surprised that Sam was so up for a juicy steak, when as a rule he was almost a disciple of Vega.

Later that night, as he fell asleep in his motel bed, Sam mulled over the insinuations Kubrick had made...

-~=O=~-

Sam stepped cautiously through the undergrowth, the moon throwing disturbing shadows over the dark ground. Night sat heavily on his shoulder, silent save for the howl of a single distant dog.

Before him a dark shape hunched over the pale body of a woman sprawled on the dirt. She was clothed in a long virgin-white gown, splattered with scarlet.

Beneath his foot, a twig snapped suddenly and the dark apparition turned, face ashen, mouth daubed with gore, teeth bloodied. The creature cringed hissing, features distorted with wordless hate. The ugly vision drawn by Kubrick with the angelic face of his step-brother.

Sam raised his shotgun to eye-level and fired...

Sam's chest tightened with a cold fear, and his eyes snapped open in his pitch-black room. Only his own strained breathing displaced the stillness. He squeezed his eyes tight and fought to regain his calm.

"No," he told himself. "Not Dean."

But somewhere inside he knew he was no longer quite so certain.

-~=O=~-

Just about that time, Sam began to get a recurring pain in his abdomen. It came and went throughout the day and night. He put it down to indigestion, and filed it with all the other little unimportant problems they would have to deal with sometime. It had been going on a few weeks before Dean noticed that it seemed to be bothering him.

"You got a problem there?" he asked one day, when Sam pushed his half-finished lunch away to sit rubbing his stomach.

"It's nuthin'," Sam replied dismissively.

"You wanna get some Pepto-Bismol?" Dean asked.

The next day in the car, Dean noticed that Sam was doing it again.

"Stomach ache?" he asked. "You said hello to Mr. Crapper yet today?"

Sam shot him a glare. "What am I, five years old?" he responded snarkily.

"Only on days with a 'Y' in 'em," Dean chuckled.

A couple nights later Dean was awoken by the fidgeting and groaning coming from the other bed.

"Sam?" he stage-whispered. "You OK? Want me to get you something?"

"No!" Sam answered. "I'm OK. Just go back to sleep and forget about me, would ya."

An hour later, Dean jumped out of bed. "Show me," he insisted.

"Like hell," Sam retorted.

Dean pulled back Sam's bedclothes, and ran his hand over his step-brother's belly. Sam moaned at the discomfort.

"That doesn't feel good, Sam," Dean said, worried. "Better get you to a hospital, stat."

"Hate hospitals," Sam grumbled.

Dean grabbed Sam and dragged him into the Impala. He burned rubber getting him to the nearest hospital and plonked him in a chair in the waiting room, while he looked for someone to give him attention. When he came back with a gurney crew, Sam was gone. Searching around outside, he found him leaning against the Impala.

"No hospital, Dean," Sam muttered deliriously. "We hate hospitals."

"OK. Stay cool," Dean searched his memory for an alternative. Then he remembered Sam's weirdo friend Pamela. Pamela was into all kinds of freaky cults and ideas, from Parapsychology to Ufology. She advertized herself as a medium, but she used to be a nurse and she lived maybe forty minutes away.

Dean floored the gas.

TBC

* * *

><p>AN: Sam is sick! Let's hope Pamela can help.


	12. Cut And Left For Dead

Summary: Sam was a boringly regular guy. Best friend and sometime step-brother, Dean, was something different. When a hunter comes along, they hit the road. It turns out to be a long journey. AU Sam/Dean unrel slash, full SPN cast no OCs. Warnings: suicide dub-con mpreg.

* * *

><p>The Monster's Child (Chapter 12: Cut And Left For Dead) by frostygossamer<p>

* * *

><p>Pamela was an attractive brunette, with an open mind and a tendency to call it like she saw it. She and Dean manhandled Sam into her place, and laid him out on her couch. Sam was feverish and moaning incoherently.<p>

"Jeez, he looks terrible," Pamela gasped. "What the hell happened?"

"He got bitten. On the right shoulder," Dean explained, hoping he wouldn't have to go into detail. "Maybe it got infected?"

Pamela examined Sam's shoulder. "Looks fine," she pronounced. "No sign of infection there."

"He has a pain in his gut," Dean added.

Pamela pulled up Sam's T-shirt, eliciting a faint protest from her patient, and examined his belly.

"There's some kinda hard lump in here," she said. "Could be a blockage. Maybe gas even. It can happen. I can try to alleviate the pressure."

She went in the kitchen and came back with some towels, antiseptic, a scalpel, surgeon's gloves and a bowl. She slid a couple towels underneath Sam and wiped down his belly with the antiseptic.

"Hold him still," she barked at Dean, snapping on the gloves.

Dean grabbed Sam's arms and braced himself against Sam's upper body, pressing him down against the couch. Pamela hesitated for a second and then plunged the scalpel into Sam's abdomen, slicing a deep incision in his skin. She slid her gloved fingers into the split and rummaged around. Sam writhed in agony, locking eyes with Dean for a moment before passing out completely.

Pamela dumped the sludge she removed from Sam in her bowl and ripped off her gloves.

"Got it," she said.

"Not gonna close him up?" Dean asked, concerned.

"Nah," Pamela replied. "Don't wanna risk infection. You can take him on back to the hospital. Get them to check him over, medicate him, sew him up. You want him to be safe, right? He's out cold now. He's not gonna put up a fight this time."

Dean and Pamela loaded Sam in the Impala, and took him straight off to the hospital, where Dean explained his injury to a triage doctor as the consequence of a knife attack by muggers.

A couple days later Sam was fit to be discharged.

"Feeling better?" Dean asked, as Sam slid carefully into the Impala's passenger seat.

"Yeah," Sam replied. "But kinda feel like something's missing."

Dean chuckled. "Probably your brain."

-~=O=~-

Sam had made good use of his few days in hospital. He had used his masculine wiles on the nurses, and one very helpful black doctor, Dr. Robinson, had given him some useful opinions on the sort of condition that he thought might cause the behaviour Dean was displaying.

Sam had told him he was writing a book, and promised to base a character on him. The doctor had been flattered, and suggested some sort of bipolar condition could be at the root of his friend's problem, or maybe Dissociative Identity Disorder, a.k.a. Multiple Personality Disorder.

Sam knew that, so far, Dean's transformation into a werefright had been only psychological rather than a physical thing. There was no implausible Hollywood metamorphosis into a shaggy beast, not even sprouting canines. Dean's body didn't change. Sam had seen enough to be pretty sure Dean remained physically Dean throughout their encounters. But that might change.

It was still early. Right now, only Dean's personality seemed to be affected, altering the carefree, confident, mouthy Dean that Sam knew into a touchy, sullenly silent, disturbing and dangerously scary stranger. Sam didn't know if the darkside Dean could speak or understand speech. He doubted it. But what he did know was that he had to do something before he lost the Dean he called step-brother.

Back from hospital, Sam told Dean about Dr. Robinson and his suggestions, and they consulted the Web on the trail of antipsychotics, mood stabilizers and antidepressants. It was shocking that meds like these could all be obtained illegally on the internet. Sam was kind of glad they could.

So where were they going next? Dinner. Over dinner Dean's thoughts turned to the past.

"Used to date a chick named Robinson," he told Sam.

"Yeah?" Sam spluttered, mouth full of a healthy salad.

Dean's face turned a little sad. "Cassie. Nearest I ever got to getting myself hitched," he added.

Sam chuckled. "Bake a good pie, huh?" he joked.

"Nah," Dean responded. "Cassie was a babe. And smart. I was half in love with that chick. Maybe more than half."

"Seriously?" Sam asked, surprised.

He hadn't realized Dean had ever gotten that serious about a woman.

"Yup," Dean replied. "Dunno why I walked away from that honey. Didn't feel one hundred per cent right between us, is all. But Cassie was something special."

Sam pretended to concentrate on his food. "She'd wanna be," he thought.

Dean sighed wistfully. "Wonder how Cassie's doing now. Maybe we should go visit with her? Like to see her again."

Sam considered. "That would be an idea," he said.

So next day they set off for Cassie's. After a long drive they pulled up outside the address where Cassie had been living when Dean saw her last, the day Dean had said goodbye because, for some reason, he couldn't commit to settling down.

They got out of the Impala and walked up to the front door of the house. Dean pressed the bell push, and after a few seconds the door was opened by a strange redheaded woman, totally unlike the dark-skinned Cassie.

"Uh, we're looking for Cassie?" Dean asked, a little confused.

She looked embarrassed. "Cassie's not here any more," she said.

"Oh," Dean responded. "She moved?"

The woman shuffled awkwardly. "You a friend?" she asked.

"Uh-huh," Dean answered. "Could say that."

"Then you'd better come inside."

They sat in the living room. The redhead seemed unsure how to begin.

"I'm Anna. Cassie was my cousin," she explained. "I inherited this house. She, uh, she was murdered."

Dean gasped. "When did this happen?" he demanded.

Anna reached for a box of Kleenex and dabbed her eyes before continuing.

"It was just after she got jilted by her fianc ," she said. "The cops wrote it up as a suicide. But I knew her. No way..."

Sam shot a glance at his friend's face. Dean had gone white. Sam grabbed his arm and stood up.

"We're sorry for your loss," he said. "But we gotta go."

Anna nodded and walked them out the door. Dean was speechless. Sam thanked Anna for her time and they drove away.

"Sam!" Dean breathed, after half a mile.

"Dean, don't jump to conclusions. We don't know the damn facts," Sam quickly replied.

"But, Sam, she fits the M.O.! A werefright stalks an innocent chick and then... it kills. I... Sam!"

Sam patted Dean's knee without taking his eyes off of the road.

"Stay calm, buddy. We'll take a look into the case THEN we can panic," he said.

-~=O=~-

Sam went to the local Sheriff's Department and explained that he was a friend of Cassie's and needed to know the facts surrounding her death. The sheriff, a woman named Mills, was sympathetic and went through everything that had been released to the public.

"She was reported missing by a neighbour," she recalled. "We conducted a thorough search of the area. Her body was found three days later by a woman walking her dog. It seems she shot herself. And afterward, well, afterward the body was mauled, probably by a bear. Some evidence was compromised but the case seemed pretty clear."

"A bear?" Sam asked.

"Bears do come close to town once and again," Sheriff Mills explained. "Parts of the body were, uh, missing. It happens, I'm afraid."

Sam thanked the sheriff and returned to Dean, who was waiting anxiously at their hotel. Sam flopped on his bed and accepted the beer Dean offered him.

"Sheriff reckons it was suicide by gunshot. But looks like a bear ate part of the corpse," Sam told him.

"Oh God," Dean gasped. "Was her heart...?"

"She wouldn't go into that much detail," Sam answered.

Sam ordered some of the meds he'd researched. He realised he was going to need a little help keeping his friend on an even keel, until they could put this business behind them. He hoped Dean was learning to cope.

He was wrong.

TBC

* * *

><p>AN: Poor Cassie chewed up, and just when Dean left town! More soon.


	13. Hope Won't Fly

Summary: Sam was a boringly regular guy. Best friend and sometime step-brother, Dean, was something different. When a hunter comes along, they hit the road. It turns out to be a long journey. AU Sam/Dean unrel slash, full SPN cast no OCs. Warnings: suicide dub-con mpreg.

* * *

><p>The Monster's Child (Chapter 13: Hope Won't Fly) by frostygossamer<p>

* * *

><p>Sam flung open the roof access door and sprang onto the hotel's gale-swept rooftop. Dean was standing on the low wall that ran around the edge of the building, arms outstretched like the figure of Christ that hovers over Rio.<p>

"Don't do it, Dean," Sam pleaded, approaching him cautiously. "You don't have to end it here. There's still hope. There's always hope. Maybe it's not how it sounds."

"Oh yeah?" Dean responded without moving. "Hope is a cruel joke, Sam. A cruel joke with one helluva nasty pay-off."

"You jump, you're gonna stop traffic. You could kill someone," Sam shouted.

"Like I should care," Dean retorted.

"Yeah," Sam insisted. "You SHOULD care. Cos it'd be me you'd kill."

Dean wavered. "I don't wanna hurt you, Sam," he said. "But you'd be better off without me around. You can go back to your girl and do that Thailand thing you always meant to do. Forget about me."

"Jessica? Jess was never my girl, Dean," Sam insisted. "Just a co-worker at the bank. And Thailand was only a vacation, not my life's dream."

So he had had plans to take Jess backpacking and saving damn tigers, but that was Jess' dream not his. He had been hoping to get it together with Jess. Somehow that no longer seemed to signify. He had something more vital on his mind right now: saving Dean's life.

"Well, anyway, I wish you luck," Dean said, and took a half-step forward.

In desperation, Sam lunged at him and clung on, with his arms clasped tight around his friend's waist.

"You jump now and you're gonna take me with you," he gasped.

"No!" Dean cried, trying to pull Sam off of him. "Let me go, Sam."

"Never!" Sam yelled.

He yanked with all his strength and toppled them both onto their backs on the rooftop. Sam rolled them over so he was pinning the shorter man beneath him.

"Never. Try. That. Again," he panted, removing his belt and using it to tie Dean's hands behind his back.

Yanking him up, he marched him through the access door and into the elevator.

"Hope has wings, Dean," Sam remarked dryly, as they rode the elevator down to street level. "But YOU sure as hell don't."

-~=O=~-

After so much raw emotion, it shouldn't have come as any surprise.

It started the same way as always. Sam had almost locked his bedroom door that night, but on second thoughts had chosen to leave it minutely ajar. He didn't want his friend to find himself shut out, if he came looking for him. Perhaps Sam had sensed something that night, perhaps not. Either way he didn't lock his door.

He was on the edge of sleep when he suddenly became aware of him, crouched by the door, scenting the air, scenting the fear, or lack of it, in the room. He approached the bed on all fours. Sam shifted slightly on the bed, looking for a comfortable arrangement of his limbs, making himself ready for what he now expected to come. This time he knew he had to be more careful not to make eye contact.

"Don't scare him," he thought. "He came close to losing it last time. He could hurt you. He could kill you."

No, this time he knew what to expect. He'd seen those eyes. They wouldn't freak him again, those merciless green eyes.

"It's just Dean," he reminded himself. "It's not a monster. He's not a monster. He's Dean, just Dean."

Dean pounced onto the bed like a cat and melted across Sam's legs. Sam lay back and slowly, very slowly, pulled his T-shirt off over his head and discarded it at the side of the bed. His companion slid his body up over his chest and nuzzled gently at his abs, lazily licking up the centre line of his six-pack, tongue caressing the roughness of the scar on his belly. Sam was surprised by such a tender touch.

Sam inclined his head to one side and stole a look at Dean's beautiful torso as it sprawled across him. The faint light that filtered through the curtains highlighted the curve of soft skin stretched over smooth muscle. He watched sinews ripple under that smooth skin as his visitor detailed his upper body with his tongue and sensitive finger tips.

He had never been so conscious before that his companion was totally and temptingly naked, that flesh connected so directly with flesh, so snug, so flush against him. Slowly he raised his right arm and placed his hand, oh so gently but firmly, on the joint of his visitor's shoulder, where he registered the flexing of the well developed deltoid beneath his fingers, but no reaction against his touch.

Holding his breath, he slid his hand along the back of the shoulder and across to the spine, and then began to slowly and carefully stroke his fingers down the length of the backbone. Dean's movement's slowed and he relaxed into the petting. Sam sensed a low hum echo through his chest, a thrum of pleasure like the purring of a big cat, not so much heard as felt. He wasn't sure which one of them it came from.

They lay in the silence together for several long minutes, as Sam continued to stroke him, until he stirred languidly, slid off of the bed and disappeared through the door once again. He left Sam with a palpitating heart and a dick like an iron rod. A problem he had to deal with himself, in more ways than one.

-~=O=~-

Dean never admitted any memory of their nocturnal encounters, but nonetheless that night's seemed to have had a cathartic effect in his state of mind. When he appeared from his room the next morning, he seemed in a greatly improved mood. So Sam treated them both to a lavish breakfast.

"Dude, you're fungry this morning," Dean observed, as Sam tucked away his food at record speed.

"Sometimes I wake up and feel like life is good, Dean," Sam replied, cheerily.

"Huh," Dean murmured. "Wish I could feel the same."

Just then that redhead Anna walked in the diner. She spotted them and came right on over. She seemed to want to talk. Dean grumbled, reluctant to be around the cousin of the woman whose death he blamed on himself. But his friend shot him a sharp look. Sam wanted to speak with her again. He thought they should find out what she knew about Cassie's fianc . Maybe she had suspicions that could threaten Dean.

The waitress came over and poured them all coffee.

"It's so ironic," Anna grumbled, sipping her coffee. "I was so glad to hear that Cassie had found herself a nice guy and wanted to get married. After the problems she had when she was living in Chicago."

"Problems?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, she almost got engaged to some slob who slapped her around. Name of Nick. I told her to walk away from him. When she moved down here, I thought she would be happy at last."

"This guy," Sam probed. "Was he a vindictive type? The stalker type?"

"Oh yeah!" Anna agreed. "I thought about him. But the cops said he had a watertight alibi. I woulda liked to confront him myself but he'd cleared out. Dunno where the heck he went."

Sam glanced at Dean who raised an eyebrow. "Worth a look, huh?" Sam suggested.

TBC

* * *

><p>AN: Into the second half now. Revelations ahead.


	14. Forever Yours

Summary: Sam was a boringly regular guy. Best friend and sometime step-brother, Dean, was something different. When a hunter comes along, they hit the road. It turns out to be a long journey. AU Sam/Dean unrel slash, full SPN cast no OCs. Warnings: suicide dub-con mpreg.

* * *

><p>The Monster's Child (Chapter 14: Forever Yours) by frostygossamer<p>

* * *

><p>Sam and Dean went back to the Sheriff's Department, where Sam spoke to Sheriff Mills again.<p>

"This guy Nick, the ex, you check him out?" Sam asked.

"He'd got an alibi from his father, a judge no less," Mills explained. "Couldn't shake him. Personally, I agree he was mighty shady."

"You know where he was working?"

Mills glanced at the file. "Restaurant called 'Hell's Kitchen'. Why?"

"You check his vacation time?"

The sheriff picked up her phone and dialled the place's number. Sam memorized it. After a short conversation Mills put the phone down.

"Hmm. Spoke to the owner's PA. Sounds like the guy left there the month BEFORE the girl's death."

"Got a photo?"

Mills sent one to Sam's cell phone.

Dean and Sam went and showed the guy's mug around the bars and restaurants in town. One waitress Lucy, a pretty brunette, recognized the face.

"Yeah, sure. I remember him," Lucy recalled. "He came in a few times. He had camping gear, binoculars, video camera, tripod and stuff. Guess he was a bird watcher."

"Oh, yeah, he was a watcher, sure," Dean agreed.

Outside he met up with Sam.

"He WAS here," Dean told him. "And he WAS stalking Cassie, camping in the woods, making videos."

Sam rang Nick's last employer again, making out to be one of Sheriff Mills' deputies, and got the guy's forwarding address.

"Got him!" he said.

-~=O=~-

They arrived on Nick's doorstop the following night. A scruffy, stubble-chinned guy opened the door a crack, got a glimpse of Dean and ran back inside, desperate to get out the back way. Dean charged through the house and grabbed him in the back yard.

"Get him off of me! Get him off of me!" Nick yelled hysterically, as he squirmed on the ground with Dean's knee in his back.

Dean growled low as Sam caught up with them, breathless.

"Get him off of me," whined Nick again, pathetically. "Damn psychopath."

Dean rolled him over, pinning him down by the arms. Nick stared up at Sam, eyes wide with fear.

"He'll let you go when you tell me what the hell you did to Cassie," Sam barked.

Nick whimpered. "Cassie, the bitch, she told the cops I beat on her. Told me she didn't wanna see me no more. Walked out on me. And next thing I hear she's found herself a new guy, that ho. She was mine, MINE, and she needed to know that. I made sure she knew it. Made her pay for walking out on ME. Made her pay."

"You lured her into the woods and then you shot her. That it?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Nick admitted. "She had it coming. And I made it look like she offed herself, cos it was her fault, all her fault. She did it to herself, cheating on me that way. Then HE jumped me."

"Who?" Sam demanded.

"Him! This bastard. First I thought he was a goddamn bear. Only there weren't no bears in the woods. He went for me like an animal. Hurt me bad."

Dean snarled dangerously and Nick flinched.

"Call him off. He nearly killed me, out in those woods. I got away by the skin of my teeth. Call off your dog, dammit!"

"Not till the cops get here," Sam said, opening his cell phone. "I'm sure the CSI techs are gonna find some very interesting videos in your collection."

The local cops were there in a few minutes. When they had arrived, Sam stroked Dean's hair calmingly and carefully prised his grip off of Nick's arms. His nails had drawn blood. Dean turned his head to face Sam. His eyes had that glazed look that indicated darkside Dean was in control.

"It's OK now, Dean," Sam told him quietly. "Nick's a dead guy."

He met Dean's eyes steadily, and after a few moments, Dean's expression changed, the spark returning to his eyes.

"He's a dead guy," he agreed. Sam nodded.

After speaking to the cops, and squaring things with Sheriff Mills, Sam and Dean got in the Impala.

As he pulled away, Dean grimly murmured "It wasn't a bear."

Sam nodded carefully. "But it was no dumb brute, Dean. Not the way Nick is."

-~=O=~-

The knowledge that Dean had almost killed a man for sure, and might very well have actually consumed human flesh, was unbearable to him. Sam upped his meds to try and prevent him descending back into utter despair, perhaps for good.

"Dean, you need to get outta this room before you get cabin fever," Sam told him.

Dean had refused to leave their motel room for six days. He was just sitting on his bed in the T-shirt and shorts he slept in, hair a mess. He looked like hell.

"I need to be locked up, Sam. I'm not safe to be around people," he moaned.

"Look, Dean," Sam began, sitting down beside him. "Maybe you lost control back there in the woods, but you didn't kill anyone. Not Cassie. Not even Nick."

"I ate...," Dean faltered, unable to say the words.

"We don't know that," Sam pointed out. "And even if you did... Jeez, so what? She didn't feel it. She wouldn't blame you."

Dean chuckled bitterly. "Doesn't make it any better."

Sam put his arm supportively around his friend's shoulders. Dean seemed strangely small and deflated.

"And when we caught up with Nick you took control back, right in front of my eyes."

"Yeah?" Dean asked, unconvinced.

"Yeah. So you CAN do it, Dean. You CAN control it. All we need to do is work on that. You can learn to suppress the dark side."

"Y'think," retorted Dean.

Sam smiled encouragingly. "But first we GOTTA get the hell outta this damn room and find someplace we can chill out and think."

-~=O=~-

It had been a couple months since they had last heard from Pamela, when Sam got a phone call. She sounded hesitant, which was strange for her.

"I need you to come over," she said. "There's something you gotta see."

Sam was intrigued. "Like what?" he asked.

"I'm not gonna tell you over the phone," Pamela exclaimed. "You really gotta see this."

"I'll get Dean and come over," Sam suggested.

Pamela was silent for a moment. "You might wanna come over alone. Reckon this is kinda personal."

Now Sam was curious. He made up an excuse to go out to the store, and left Dean watching crappy daytime TV.

Pamela met him at her door. They walked in the living room to find a little baby boy laying on the couch, face covered in chocolate. Sam smiled at the kid.

"Hi, scamp," he said.

The sticky infant beamed back at him sweetly.

"Yours?" Sam asked Pamela.

Pamela smiled wryly. "Yours," she said.

TBC

* * *

><p>AN: I'm sure you all saw that one coming.


	15. Zonked Out

Summary: Sam was a boringly regular guy. Best friend and sometime step-brother, Dean, was something different. When a hunter comes along, they hit the road. It turns out to be a long journey. AU Sam/Dean unrel slash, full SPN cast no OCs. Warnings: suicide dub-con mpreg.

* * *

><p>AN: So Pamela has a cute baby boy, but it isn't hers. It's Sam's...

* * *

><p>The Monster's Child (Chapter 15: Zonked Out) by frostygossamer<p>

* * *

><p>Over a mug of strong coffee, Pamela explained to a dazed Sam what had happened.<p>

When she had returned home from the hospital the night Sam was admitted, she had examined the tissue that she had removed from Sam's body and had been shocked to discover it was... a foetus. She recognized it as a foetus at a fairly advanced stage, despite its small size. It should have been dead, since it had been laying in a bowl on her kitchen table for a couple hours while she was at the hospital with Sam, but it was tough and it had still hung on stubbornly to life.

She had bathed it, wrapped it in a blanket and nursed it all night like a newborn lamb. It thrived. In no time it had grown into a healthy looking baby, and after two months it had developed into the cute snookums it now was.

"What I don't understand is how come you got a baby inside you?" she demanded, full of curiosity. "You're a guy, Sam. You ain't got a womb. It was just growing inside you like some damn pea in a pod."

Sam sighed. "You believe that there's more 'out there' than the government are letting us know about, right? Ghosts, aliens, time-travellers, leprechauns, stuff like that?"

"Oh sure," Pamela agreed enthusiastically. "Is the little guy an alien baby? Oh, Sam, you got 'probed' by an extraterrestrial?"

Sam took a deep breath. "He's Dean's."

"No," Pamela gasped, really amazed. "How come?"

"Dean is a... well, he's not exactly human," Sam explained, piecing it together as he went. "He bit me hard, on the shoulder. Guess something musta gotten in my bloodstream. Kinda, uh, impregnated me somehow. Dunno, but that has to be it. So it's gotta be his baby. His and mine, I guess."

Pamela stared at him wide-eyed for a moment, and then broke out in a smile.

"Dean is an alien? That is SO cool," she exclaimed. "He's gotta be from Venus, planet of Love. He's sure as hell no little green Martian, not that hottie," she chuckled. "So you wanna take the kiddie home, meet his other daddy, huh?"

"Uh no," Sam replied. "Can't let Dean know about this. Not yet anyways. Dean's still kinda struggling with not being human. This would be way to much to cope with right now."

Pamela patted his hand kindly. "That's OK. The kid can stay here with me a while longer. He's such a sweet little thing. You can bring Dean to see him sometime, when he's ready."

"Thanks, Pamela. You've been great," Sam sighed with relief.

Sam had a long think on the drive home to Dean. Dean was going to have to know about this kid sometime. He just hoped that there was going to be a day when Dean would be able to accept this for the miracle it really was.

-~=O=~-

It was Friday evening, and Sam knew it was the right place as soon as the immaculately dressed realtor, Lynda Bloome, unlocked the door and led him in the kitchen.

"What's this door?" he asked, lifting the curtain which disguised a stout door with a heavy antique bolt.

"Cellar," Lynda replied, checking her notes.

She tugged back the curtain and opened the heavy door, flipping on the light to reveal a short flight of steps leading to a sizeable storeroom below.

Sam grinned. "I'll take it," he said enthusiastically, surprising the nervous woman a little.

After he had signed the papers, paid his deposit and said goodbye to Ms. Bloome, Sam went and picked Dean up from the diner, where he'd been waiting huddled over a cup of lethally strong coffee.

"Found a great place," Sam told him, smiling. "You'll love it. It's perfect."

Dean returned his smile weakly. "Great," he said. "Not feeling so good, Sam."

-~=O=~-

They drove out to the house and Sam let Dean in. He wandered around taking in the facilities. It was a one story, one bedroom affair.

"One bed?" Dean asked, a little puzzled.

"One bed UP-stairs," Sam clarified, opening the cellar door and pointing down.

Dean put on the light switch and stared blankly down the stairs.

"Junk room," he pronounced.

"Panic room," Sam corrected. "There's a bedstead down there, some other furniture and it's got water. I'll clear it out tomorrow, get you a mattress, put in a toilet, make it self-contained. It'll be perfect."

Dean's look was resigned. "Like a freakin' cell," he said, flatly.

"A safe room, Dean," Sam replied, squeezing Dean's shoulder. "It's secure. You'll be safe down there this Winter. It'll be OK. You'll be fine."

Dean sighed. "Yeah. Fine."

Sam punched him on the arm and changed the subject. "I'm gonna make dinner. Pork chops and mashed potatoes. OK? And for tonight you can bunk with me."

Dean nodded miserably.

-~=O=~-

Monday morning Dean woke early, laying on his comfortable new mattress on his bed in the cellar. He stretched languidly and glanced around the sun-dappled room. He and Sam had spent the weekend clearing it, sweeping it and setting out furniture. Sam had hooked up a compact toilet, and a microwave and mini-fridge. All modern conveniences, plus several reinforced door bolts, and steel bars on the single, high-set window.

Dean had expected to feel claustrophobic, locked in down there in the basement, but now he was in there, he didn't. He felt... safe. Nothing bad was going to happen to him down there. HE wasn't going to happen to anyone down there. He was snug and that was cool. Pretty much.

There was a quick knock at the door and a fumble with the bolts, and Sam appeared at the top of the stairs carrying a tray heavy with breakfast: eggs, bacon, granola.

"Hi there, Dean," Sam said, grinning. "Great day outside. Should be a fine one," and he made to plop the tray down on Dean's lap.

"Wait," Dean interrupted. "Lemme hit the head first," and he hopped out of bed.

Sam rolled his eyes, plonked the tray down on the table and busied himself fixing the coffee machine for a rousing shot of caffeine.

"It's gonna be busy at Harvelle's today," he said, covering the sounds behind him with pointless chatter. "'spect there'll be plenty tips so near Thanksgiving."

Sam had gotten himself a job tending bar at a joint popular with the local kids, Harvelle's Bar. Dean flushed, washed up and sat back in bed, waiting to be fed. Sam shook his head and plopped the tray where he'd intended to before.

"There y'are, Mr. Winchester sir," he joked.

Dean scoffed. "You love it," he chuckled.

"Guess I must do," Sam agreed wryly. "OK, see ya round six?"

"Sure," Dean mumbled through his mouthful of eggs. "Don't work too hard, huh?"

Dean heard Sam lock up the cellar and then the front door, as he left for work. The house fell silent. Dean reached for his remote and switched on the TV to enjoy the morning news for wage slaves.

It wasn't so bad really.

-~=O=~-

By lunch time the unseasonable heat and airlessness was getting to him. Dean switched off the TV, checked out his mini-fridge and set about making himself an enormous lettuce, tomato, chicken and pepperoni sandwich.

He poured himself another iced coffee and tried to relax. He was hot, too hot, even stripped down to his boxers. Half way through the sandwich, Dean had to set it down to shake himself all over.

Overdosing on coffee wasn't helping. In fact it was probably making it worse. He eyed the box of pills Sam had left him, sleeping tablets, and made a snap decision.

In ten minutes he was zonked out flat on the bed.

TBC

* * *

><p>AN: Poor old Dean, feeling low. But drugs are never the answer ;)


	16. Stir Crazy

Summary: Sam was a boringly regular guy. Best friend and sometime step-brother, Dean, was something different. When a hunter comes along, they hit the road. It turns out to be a long journey. AU Sam/Dean unrel slash, full SPN cast no OCs. Warnings: suicide dub-con mpreg.

* * *

><p>AN: Either my stats are screwy or suddenly no one's reading this. Hope it's the stats. Otherwise, for posterity...

* * *

><p>The Monster's Child (Chapter 16: Stir Crazy) by frostygossamer<p>

* * *

><p>Sam realized there was something wrong the moment he set foot in Harvelle's. The bar staff and kitchen staff were all sitting in the bar looking mutinous.<p>

"What's going down?" Sam whispered to sexy brunette Casey, the girl he usually tended bar with.

"Some money's gone missing from the weekend's take," she whispered back. "A whole hunk of cash. Boss's crazy as all hell. He's called the cops."

Sam sighed. Living under a false name doesn't make you too fond of random cop checks. He parked himself beside Casey, who flashed him an impish smile.

After another hour, the local police had decided that only four people looked likely for the theft. Unfortunately that included Sam, seeing as he was the most recent employee. They all agreed to let the cops go search each suspect's home to try and find the missing money. If Sam had refused it would have looked mighty suspicious.

-~=O=~-

Sam sat on his couch with the senior detective, Det. Victor Henricksen, a tall black guy, and just had to hope they wouldn't notice the cellar. Unfortunately they did.

An officer came over and whispered with his superior, who looked at Sam oddly.

"Mr. Parfitt, looks like we just found ourselves a drugged out prisoner in your cellar, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts," Henricksen said meaningfully.

Something like that is going to look bad every time.

-~=O=~-

Sam was sitting at the table in the Police Department interrogation room with his head in his hands, when Det. Henricksen entered the room and flopped himself down in the chair across from him.

"Mr. Parfitt," he said. "At 2:53pm today police officers entered your home at 135 Willow Lane to find THIS man drugged and imprisoned in your root cellar."

He placed a photo of an unconscious Dean on the table, and turned it around to face Sam.

"Have you ANY sort of reasonable explanation?"

Sam stared at the photo. Dean looked sort of vulnerable like that. The idiot.

"He OK?" he asked, feeling concerned for his friend.

"They took him to the local hospital," the detective told him, with a sniff. "Who is he? Or do we have to go through the Missing Persons...?"

"It's not what it looks like," Sam hastily cut in. "I didn't abduct the guy, or anything like that. His name is Dean, Dean Rossi. He's a friend."

"A friend?" Henricksen slowly repeated, disbelieving. "Who you keep under lock and key?"

For a moment Sam vainly cast around for a plausible story, then it hit him.

"Role play," he said.

"Role... what?" Henricksen demanded.

"Role play," Sam repeated. "As in sex games."

The detective raised an eyebrow.

Sam continued. "My, uh, boyfriend likes to role play 'Criminal Minds'. He makes like he's been abducted and held by some creep, and I come along and rescue him. Then he's, you know, grateful, very grateful."

"Oh," Henricksen drawled. "Really?"

He looked skeptical, and a little scandalized.

"Look, we're consenting adults. It's not a crime," Sam insisted.

Henricksen grumbled like he thought it should be.

"Well, we'll see about that when your 'boyfriend' regains consciousness," he said, rising from his chair. "Let's hope, for your sake, he corroborates your story."

"Sure he will," Sam agreed.

As the door closed behind his interviewer, Sam crossed his fingers, praying Dean was going to be on the ball when he woke up.

-~=O=~-

Det. Henricksen stood at the end of the hospital bed eyeing his latest crime victim, as the nurse checked Dean's blood pressure and temperature yet again.

"Feeling better now, Mr. Rossi?" he asked.

Dean reached for his third cup of Jell-O. "Peachy," he replied.

"I'm glad to see you've recovered from your ordeal."

"Ordeal? What ordeal?"

"Mr. Rossi, you were found unconscious in a locked room. In your underwear."

"Reckon that's an ordeal? Dude, you don't get out much, huh?"

Henricksen smoothed his Van Dyke thoughtfully.

"So I assume you're not gonna press charges against Mr. Parfitt, for doping you with a cocktail of drugs and locking you in his cellar."

Dean choked on his Jell-O. "Sam didn't give me those meds. Well, he GAVE me the meds, but I took them. Myself. He didn't force me."

"Didn't force you?" Henricksen repeated. "Did he force you to do anything else?"

Dean felt affronted by the insinuation. "Hell no! He didn't force me to do anything. What are you suggesting?"

"I'm not suggesting a damn thing, Mr. Rossi. I'm merely concerned for your welfare. I need to establish whether a crime has been committed. False imprisonment is a crime."

"Not if it's consensual," Dean pointed out.

"No," the detective agreed, begrudgingly. "Was it? Did you CONSENT to be locked in a cellar by Mr. Parfitt?"

Dean considered his reply. "Yeah. I did. I could tell you why, but you don't need to know. It's between me and Sam. It's personal."

Det. Henricksen nodded. He couldn't force the guy to make a complaint. If this kinky weirdo actually found being locked in a semi-underground cell a turn-on then that was his own business. Guess it took all kinds.

-~=O=~-

Sam was released from custody, picked Dean up from the hospital and took him home. The missing money was never found. Dean gave a sigh of relief when he got home.

"You want food?" Sam asked, walking in the kitchen.

"Ate in the hospital," Dean replied.

"Dude, I said FOOD," Sam joshed.

Dean chuckled. "Nah. I'm good. Just need to go lie down."

"You wanna lie down? Dude, you've been unconscious most of the afternoon."

Dean shrugged and went on down to his little cell. Sam wandered down after him, a few minutes later, to find him sitting on his bed staring at the wall.

"You OK, man?" Sam asked, sitting down on the bed beside him.

"Sure," Dean replied. "It's just, in the hospital, that detective figured I was the victim of some crazy abductor and all the time I was thinking, if he only knew, he had a real, genuine freak right there under his nose."

"You're no freak, Dean," Sam assured him. "You're different, is all."

"Oh sure," Dean retorted.

Sam slipped one arm across Dean's shoulders.

"You're not a freak. You're just... Dean."

TBC

* * *

><p>AN: Quo!


	17. Bar Fly

Summary: Sam was a boringly regular guy. Best friend and sometime step-brother, Dean, was something different. When a hunter comes along, they hit the road. It turns out to be a long journey. AU Sam/Dean unrel slash, full SPN cast no OCs. Warnings: suicide dub-con mpreg.

* * *

><p>AN: The stats seem to be moving a little again, and I got a slew of email I'd been waiting for, so fingers crossed that FF is on the mend. Sorry for the hold-up. Now back to the story...

* * *

><p>The Monster's Child (Chapter 17: Bar Fly) by frostygossamer<p>

* * *

><p>Harvelle's Bar was a very popular night spot with the local kids, and Sam was very popular with the local chicks. He made a lot of tips, and he got plenty of offers of another kind. But he didn't have time for fooling around, and he was, well, otherwise occupied.<p>

He was pulling a lot of late shifts. It gave him the freedom to be home more to hang out with Dean in the daytime. But right then Dean was probably fast asleep, or at least watching his favourite late night TV while tucked up in his subterranean bed.

Sam was pondering whether he should try to convince Dean to come and spend some time with him at the bar once in a while, play a little pool, enjoy the atmosphere, just to shake up the routine. Then he spotted a familiar face through the partying crowd, Kubrick.

"How the hell...?" Sam thought.

The last time he'd seen that miserable mug he was being led away by cops. Sam asked his fellow bartender, pretty Casey, to spell him while he took a ten minute rest break. He moved to the quiet end of the bar, and waited for Kubrick to come over. He didn't have to wait long.

"Missed me, Sam buddy?" Kubrick asked, ironically.

"How'd you find me, jerk-ass?" Sam tersely demanded.

"Now that there's a funny thing," his adversary chuckled. "Complete coincidence. Just flashing his photo around. Almost gave this place a miss. Reckoned it was too 'in the open'. Only came in for a drink."

Sam cursed. "The good guys never get a lucky break," he muttered.

"Good guys?" Kubrick repeated thoughtfully. "So you still think you're on the side of the angels, huh Sam?"

"Know which side YOU're on, Kubrick," Sam spat.

"The human race," Kubrick retorted. "But you seem to have forgotten that's where you belong, bud. You give him up, maybe we'll take you back."

"Kinda guessing, if you knew where he was, you wouldn't be standing here now," Sam growled. "What makes you think I'm gonna lead you to him, jerk?"

Kubrick chortled heartily. "Man, he's still got you on a leash."

The older guy took a seat on a barstool and leaned on the bar, lowering his voice menacingly.

"That thing knows exactly how to play you. That's what they do. That's what they're built for. Here's something you don't know about your precious Dean. That parasite, he's had his hooks into you from day one."

Sam scoffed. "That's crazy, Kubrick. We were just kids. And he's the straightest guy I know."

"Oh, they start their seduction young, Sam. A werefright's gotta get beside you, gotta get in your space, get in your head. Now he's your BFF. That's damn smart. Gal, guy, don't signify none. He's just after your meat."

Kubrick smirked. "He'll eat your heart out, in more ways than one. That's how the son of a bitch operates, Sammo. That's his instinct. He'll drink your gullible freakin' blood. He'll drain you dry. See if I'm not right. If you wanna survive, you just have to hand his ass over to me."

"Like hell," Sam retorted, turning to walk away. "Twenty-five years in the big house has messed with your damn head, Kubrick."

"You want me to tell you how I wound up in the tank, Sam?" Kubrick asked.

Sam ignored him and began clearing the bar. Kubrick continued anyway.

"Yeah, used to slap Michelle around once in a while. Who wouldn't. She was a sweet chick when I met her, but she turned into one damn whiny bitch. She ended up in the county nut house few times. And she met this young guy, Montgomery. He was a sad sorry-ass, in and out of treatment since he was a kid. They were two of a freakin' kind, him and her. She told me he talked about these weird, twisted dreams he had."

His expression turned grim.

"Came home one night and found the two of them together. She was cheating on me with the guy. Said they were freakin' in love. Beat the crap outta him. He fought crazy, all nails and teeth like a goddamn mad dog. He got these wild eyes. He blew outta there. Didn't see him again for a couple months."

He paused as a chubby guy with long, curly hair came over and ordered himself a bourbon. Sam took his time fixing him his drink but, as Sam set it on the bar, Kubrick snatched it up. The fat guy gave him a challenging glare.

"Hey, Reznik," Sam cut in, and quickly poured him another.

Reznik moved away, mumbling under his breath, and Kubrick continued his story.

"Had to lock the bitch up or she woulda run out on me. Then one night that psycho Montgomery broke in while I was asleep. Wanted Michelle to run away with him. Run away on ME. I beat on the guy. He fought like some freakin' savage, some animal. He was no guy. He was something dark and nasty in a human skin. Something, uh, supernatural."

Kubrick sipped his bourbon and smacked his lips.

"I remember those eyes. Cold, cold as the dark, cold as death, inhuman. And Michelle tried to stop me. She tried to get between us. Jeez, she tried to help HIM. She got hurt, hurt bad. She died. My sick freakin' wife died. And the thing that called itself Montgomery, he got away. Called my old hunting buddy, John, and we tracked that mother down. We found his place, out in the boonies. And we put him down, put IT down. Never enjoyed a kill more."

He knocked back the rest of his drink and slammed the glass on the bar.

"Next day, saw John was acting strange, like there was something he wasn't telling, something he was keeping from me. Knocked it outta him. He'd found its goddamn spawn and he'd hid it someplace. He tried to give me some sob story about how it was just a kid and how it deserved a chance.

He laughed and shook his head disbelievingly.

"Woulda hunted the bitch down right there and then, if the cops hadn't turned up and taken me in. Got twenty-five years for Michelle's murder. Only, like I told them, it was no murder. Didn't believe me. And, I'll give him that, John had covered his tracks mighty well, no body, no evidence. So I went down."

He growled angrily.

"In the slammer, I hit the library, read everything I could get on the occult. You know the truth IS out there? Now I'm a damn walking wiki. Knew John had the kid. It was only a matter of time before I tracked him down. Knew it'd go bad when it was twenty-five. John's mom only made it to twenty-four. He reckoned it oughta ENJOY those twenty-five years. Bullcrap! It owes me twenty-five freakin' years, and I mean to take them outta its mutant damn hide."

With that he slid awkwardly off of his stool onto the floor. Sam had slipped a mickey into that bourbon. He motioned to the burly door guy who dragged him outside.

Sam told a surprised Casey he was finished and left the bar, never to return.

-~=O=~-

Sam let himself in the house and went straight down to the cellar to see Dean. Dean was laying in bed watching a late-night horror and bingeing on junk snacks. Sam did a double-take when he saw what he was watching.

"Lon Chaney in 'The Wolf Man'? Seriously?" he remarked.

"Looking for pointers," his friend replied, with a grin.

Dean was surprised to see Sam back home before morning.

"You're early. What's happened, Sam?" he demanded, now feeling concerned.

"Kubrick," Sam answered. "Came in the bar. Slipped him a pill. We gotta get moving."

They started to pack up their things and sling them in the Impala.

"Guess you didn't hang around for payday," Dean observed. "We're gonna need cash."

Sam smirked. "Just as well I five-fingered the boss' bankroll, huh?"

Dean grinned. "That WAS you? Awesome!"

TBC

* * *

><p>AN: Hope FF is going to hold together now. Going back to daily updates.


	18. The Best Therapy

Summary: Sam was a boringly regular guy. Best friend and sometime step-brother, Dean, was something different. When a hunter comes along, they hit the road. It turns out to be a long journey. AU Sam/Dean unrel slash, full SPN cast no OCs. Warnings: suicide dub-con mpreg.

* * *

><p>The Monster's Child (Chapter 18: The Best Therapy) by frostygossamer<p>

* * *

><p>They spent a few days travelling around aimlessly, covering their tracks, creating a headache for Kubrick if he tried to get back on their trail. After weeks on the road, they landed up in a little town within shooting distance of Pamela's place.<p>

Sam was worried about Dean. Ever since the Nick incident, he had been keeping a lid on his feelings, withdrawing within himself, the old Dean surfacing only occasionally. In his cellar refuge he hadn't seemed so bad. He had appeared to handle it fairly well, safely locked up. But, on the road, the guilt was clearly beginning to haunt him once again.

As he watched Dean's restless sleep, Sam was at a loss for what to do. He wondered if there were therapies that could help him. Perhaps Pamela might know someone, some spacy alternative therapist who was open to the kind of problem Dean was struggling with. So he dropped her a text. Pamela called him back the next morning.

"Hi," she greeted him cheerily, when he picked up. "That Sam?"

"Yep," Sam replied. "You got a name for me?"

"Sure," Pamela responded.

"And?" Sam asked.

"I'll meet you at the House of Desserts on the interstate at three."

"So what's wrong with just telling me the name right now?"

Pamela tutted. "I'm gonna be at HOD at 3pm. You want the name, be there," then just as Sam was about to hang up. "I'll be bringing the kid."

"No!" Sam snapped. "Pamela! Jeez!"

"It's OK, Sam," Pamela chuckled. "So what's wrong with me enjoying a little ice cream with my nephew, huh? Don't worry. I know when to hold my tongue. But it's about time the kid set eyes on both his daddies, don't you agree?"

Sam conceded. "OK. Just remember what I said. No revelations. No reunions. Right?"

"My lips are sealed, Grumpy," she laughed. "See ya," and she put down the phone.

-~=O=~-

The moment Sam entered the diner with Dean, his eyes were locked on the little boy sitting in a high chair beside Pamela's table. Pamela was enjoying a ridiculously huge sundae. The kid had a big dollop of strawberry ice cream in a paper cup, down his Mickey Mouse bib and all over his face. Sam was amazed to see how much the kid looked like him. He was already sporting quite a head of floppy brown hair and he looked cute as hell.

"Hey there, boys," Pamela called out, as soon as she spotted them. "Come sit down. Take a load off."

Sam made like he was surprised to see her. He hadn't told Dean why they had come. They sat down at her table and Dean immediately began perusing the menu.

"Like anything you see, hot stuff?" Pamela asked him.

"So you got the name?" Sam blocked her, anxious to get on with business.

"Get right to it, why don't you," Pamela retorted, with a smirk.

"Who's the kid?" Dean asked leaning in.

"My, uh, nephew," Pamela answered. "Name's Jesse. After someone who used to be, uh, special. Jesse's a little angel. Ain't you, Jesse honey?"

"Jesse's a good name," Dean remarked, approvingly.

Jesse smiled sweetly, mouth full of ice cream. Dean wiped Jesse's face with a couple paper napkins.

"There y'are, squirt," he grinned, rescuing the spoon from the child's hand and attempting to feed him.

Sam turned back to Pamela, who smiled happily. "They seem to be hitting it off," she whispered.

"Dean likes kids," Sam explained. "Always has."

"That's lucky," Pamela replied, archly.

"And the name?" Sam asked, returning to the subject in hand.

Pamela grinned. "Just given you the name. Ain't that right, Jesse honey?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Oh thanks, Pamela," he said, sarcastically. "C'mon, Dean" and he started to get up.

He glanced at Dean, who was now happily entertaining the infant by making shadow animals with his hands. "Dean! We're outta here."

Dean reluctantly dragged himself away from his new friend, said bye to Pamela and followed Sam out the diner. They got in the Impala and Dean turned to Sam with a smirk on his face.

"Nice kid," he said. "Kinda reminds me of someone."

Sam stiffened.

"Kinda reminds me of you, Sam," Dean continued, chuckling. "You and Pamela have something you need to tell me, huh?"

Sam actually considered coming clean for a moment. But then he thought better of it.

"That's for me to know..." he said, mysteriously.

Dean's expression changed for a second, but then he shook the idea away and the smirk returned.

"Oh yeah sure," he replied. "Pamela would totally eat you alive."

"True," Sam conceded.

As they drove away, Sam thought back to the toddler in the sticky pink beauty mask. That cute nose, that radiant smile, something about the ears. Dean had got to be blind not to notice the kid looked a little like him too.

-~=O=~-

That night was warm and Sam couldn't sleep. He couldn't suffer the bedclothes on his body. He couldn't bear the feel of his night clothes binding him. After a restless hour, he stripped off his T-shirt and shorts, flung them on the floor and lay spread across the comforter on his belly. But he couldn't sleep. Because he was waiting.

What he was waiting for finally came. He no longer thought of it as chance. No, he could call to him now. He could hear him calling. They were bonded, weren't they? He was Dean's, and Dean was his.

His left hand hung limply over the side of the bed. He felt his fingers trail over the long smooth back of something down on the floor. He smiled gently.

"Dean," he thought. "You're here. Yes."

The dark shadow oozed up onto the bed and flattened its body against his back, heavy as night, but warm as blood. His visitor's lips brushed the nape of his neck, while firm hands gripped his upper arms, applying pressure to keep him still while strong legs straddled his hips, owning him.

"Yes," he thought. The thought loud and plain in his head. "Yes. Yes."

Sharp teeth scraped the nook of neck and shoulder, enough to give a little pain but not enough to break the skin, or to draw blood. No, that was different. Biting was for another time, another purpose. Sam felt those teeth graze his neck delicately and then pull away, making Sam yearn to follow.

The strong hands moved to grasp his hips and roll him over onto his back. As he did so he closed his eyes for a moment, not wanting to inadvertently meet his companion's gaze. When he opened them again, he couldn't help but gasp at the sheer beauty of the vision lowering over him. Dean stared down, head tilted to one side like a curious wolf.

For a second Sam had the urge to just grab him and kiss the life out of him, but heaven knew what reaction that would have gotten. Not a good one for sure. Instead he raised a tentative hand and traced the vision's left cheek with a gentle index finger. Dean didn't register the touch. He just continued to stare down at Sam calmly, devouring him with his gaze.

It was too much for Sam to bear. He could feel his arousal grow, and he willed it to stop. He was afraid that Dean would go as he had gone before and leave him hard and tight and alone. He didn't go, though for a moment Sam thought he would as he slipped down to the end of the bed. Then Dean began to run his tongue over the scar on Sam's stomach. Slowly. Fondly.

"Yes," Sam softly murmured, smiling into the dark. "He was in there. Jesse, your child. Our child."

Dean began to slowly lick down the inside of Sam's left thigh. Sam shifted to allow him a little more room and hissed as his tongue found his most intimate places and explored them, meticulously. It didn't take long to bring Sam to his climax, though he tried so hard to hold back. He closed his eyes tight and exploded like a skyrocket. After a moment's hesitation the tongue continued to lap at him, lovingly.

Exhausted by the wash of pleasure, Sam felt himself slip into unconsciousness, sated and complete. He was dimly aware of the solidity of Dean's body spread out across his feet, as he succumbed to sleep.

In the morning his visitor was gone, as ever.

TBC

* * *

><p>AN: Meeting his child seems to have worked a charm on Dean, even though he doesn't consciously know it yet. More tomorrow.


	19. Teddy Bear

Summary: Sam was a boringly regular guy. Best friend and sometime step-brother, Dean, was something different. When a hunter comes along, they hit the road. It turns out to be a long journey. AU Sam/Dean unrel slash, full SPN cast no OCs. Warnings: suicide dub-con mpreg.

* * *

><p>The Monster's Child (Chapter 19: Teddy Bear) by frostygossamer<p>

* * *

><p>All the following morning, sitting in the Impala with Dean, Sam couldn't take his eyes off of the guy's mouth. Every time his friend spoke to him, his attention was fixed on that little pink tongue.<p>

"Sam? Sam!" Dean snapped, waking him from another daydream. "You listening to me?"

"Oh sure, wha' did ya say again?" Sam asked, embarrassed to be caught staring.

"I said I'm gonna go in this place, get something for Pamela's kid," Dean explained, pointing to the toy store he had just parked in front of.

"Uh? OK," Sam responded.

They walked in the store and almost fell over a jolly man-size teddy-bear as he wandered across the foyer guided by a sales clerk.

"What the... Hey, sorry," Dean apologized. "Didn't see you there."

"You and me both," the teddy-bear chuckled, doffing his furry head to reveal sightless eyes. The guy was blind. Sam felt even more ashamed.

"I am so sorry," he protested. "I didn't realize..."

"You old son of a bitch," Dean exclaimed gleefully.

Sam was taken aback.

"Teddy Elmer," Dean went on. "Is that you. How in the hell did you land a gig like this?"

The genial, old teddy-bear guffawed. "Dean Winchester. How long you been back in this neck of the woods?"

"Just passing through," Dean explained. "Sam and me just stopped by to do a little toy shopping."

"Sam? The precious brother? Man, have I heard some stories about you," Teddy exclaimed, clapping Sam on the back with a huge paw.

Sam looked a little embarrassed. "Dean talk about me a lot, huh?"

"Just all the goddamn time," Teddy chortled.

"Yeah, well, your name comes up majorly in my best tall tales," Dean explained.

Teddy shook his head. "Look," he said. "I'm off in an hour. How's about I meet up with you for a drink in the bar next door?"

"Great idea," Dean agreed, smirking as the old guy shambled off with his helper to finish his afternoon's meet and greet.

"Guess you know that guy pretty well," Sam observed.

"Yeah," Dean confirmed. "Used to live across the hall from me in my rooming house. He's one helluva character. Great to see him again."

-~=O=~-

Later that evening, after a few drinks with Teddy, the subject turned to the other strange characters that resided in the boarding house where Dean had met him.

"And then there was that strange guy that stayed at your place once in a while."

Dean looked puzzled. "What guy? You mean Ash, the dweeby tech from the garage? He slept on my couch a couple times when he was too drunk on PBR to drive home."

"Nah. Not Ash," Teddy denied. "He was one talkative SOB. No, I mean the quiet guy. The one that never said word one."

Dean looked even more puzzled. "Don't know who you mean."

"Sure you do," Teddy insisted. "I bumped into him in the hall once or twice. Eerie bastard. Never made any sorta noise. I'll give him that."

Dean gave Sam a worried glance, so he leaned forward and chipped in.

"Maybe it was just Dean on a bad day? You got confused?"

"Oh no. This was definitely a different guy. He was kinda closed off, you know, like special forces or a hitman or somethin'. Cold and kinda dark vibe. Absolute zero."

"Like I'd pal around with a guy like that," Dean snorted, not liking where this was going.

"Oh I dunno," Teddy muttered. "You got a little dark in you sometimes, son. We all do."

"Anyone else ever see this guy?" Sam asked.

"No one that I know of," Teddy admitted. "But that don't mean he wasn't there," he added defensively.

"Oh, I'm sure he was," Sam agreed. "Guess I might have even met him myself."

"Well, he weren't the kind I'D like to meet again. That's for sure," Teddy chuckled. "I always wondered whether he had somethin' to do with old Rufus croakin'."

"Rufus?" Dean asked.

"You knew him," Teddy insisted. "Lived on the top floor. He was found dead as a spent match, eyes bulging like golf balls, place a wreck. Cops never caught no one."

"Hell, I forgot about Rufus," Dean gasped. "Jeez, Sam, he died of fright!"

"More like he tackled a burglarizer," Teddy chuckled. "Rufus wasn't scared of crap. He was one bad old geezer. Used to hunt big-assed bear back in the day."

Sam glanced at Dean, who had gone a little pale.

"Maybe some revengeful grizzly tracked him down," he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Teddy laughed raucously. "Reckon he finally got his, huh?"

Dean wasn't smiling.

-~=O=~-

Sam didn't know where the hell Dean had got the rope, but he was glad as hell it was the kind that was damn easy to cut with a Bowie knife. Otherwise Dean could have been dead already.

Sam sat on the floor beside his step-brother's unconscious form, panting hysterically. He had stepped in the apartment moments ago and his heart had literally stopped when his eyes took in the sight of Dean, hanging from the ceiling fan like some kind of macabre leftover Halloween decoration. Sam ran to him and hauled his dead weight up onto his shoulder, as he struggled to cut the cord that Dean had slung over the blades.

Dean was breathing now, slowly but regularly. Sam tapped his face and Dean opened his eyes staring up at Sam vaguely.

"Almost did it that time," Sam said, with a wry smile.

"Almost?" Dean asked groggily, still not altogether back in reality. "The hell."

Sam chuckled. "You gotta try harder than that if you wanna dump me," he joked.

Dean began to reply but instead was overcome by a fit of coughing.

"Bastard," he choked out.

Sam grinned. "I'll get you some water, if you promise to hang on till I get back."

He went to the bathroom, and he took the rope with him. When he came back he handed Dean a glass of water. Dean carefully took a swig.

Later, as Sam tucked Dean in bed, Dean caught his hand.

"You know, when this all started, it was like being handed a death sentence," he whispered hoarsely. "I was afraid I was gonna die. Now my biggest fear isn't dying. It's living, living like some rabid animal, mindless and inhuman, killing, mutilating, feasting on human flesh, only fit to be put down and dissected by some government lab-coats. I killed a guy, Sam. I goddamn frightened his ass to death."

"Maybe," Sam agreed. "But he was an old guy. You never laid a finger on him. And, from the sound of him, it was probably self-defence."

Dean shook his head. That argument didn't help.

"Need to be able to choose when to die, Sam. It's all I got left."

Dean's face was a mask of torment. It wrung Sam's heart.

"You're not gonna die, Dean," he promised. "Not while I'm around. And you're not gonna go crazy. Just have a little faith. We're gonna get through this."

Sam hoped to God he was telling the truth.

TBC

* * *

><p>AN: Poor tormented Dean. But every time he opens up a little more to Sam and they get a little closer. More tomorrow.


	20. The Awful Truth

Summary: Sam was a boringly regular guy. Best friend and sometime step-brother, Dean, was something different. When a hunter comes along, they hit the road. It turns out to be a long journey. AU Sam/Dean unrel slash, full SPN cast no OCs. Warnings: suicide dub-con mpreg.

* * *

><p>AN: Time for some surprises!

* * *

><p>The Monster's Child (Chapter 20: The Awful Truth) by frostygossamer<p>

* * *

><p>When Dean awoke the next morning, Sam had already gotten up. He washed and dressed slowly and then went in the kitchen, where he found Sam sitting at the table with a mug of tea. Dean poured himself a shot of coffee and sat down across from him.<p>

Sam had been up for a while thinking about how he was going to tell Dean something very important. He took a deep breath.

"There's something I gotta talk to you about, Dean," he began.

"Oh yeah?" Dean replied, still a little croaky after last night.

"Ever thought about how it would be if you had a kid?"

Dean shook his head. "The world doesn't need any more monsters," he snapped.

Sam stared seriously into his face. "The world needs wolves, the world needs tigers, cougars, sharks, eagles, coyotes. Dean, your kind has a right to live, to thrive, just like anything else."

"I'm a fiend, Sam," Dean retorted. "That means a killer. Don't be fooled by the way I act when I'm in control. You know the prognosis for a werefright: murder, mayhem, madness."

"Dude, it doesn't have to be that way."

"Sure it has. Sooner or later."

"No, Dean. I figured it all out," Sam insisted. "The killing, the heart-eating, the prowling, the persecution, that's just what happens when it goes wrong."

"Goes wrong?" Dean repeated, doubtfully.

"Reckon the killing is just self-defense, but what's suppose to happen is a werefright finds himself some sympathetic human. He gets close. He gets them to trust. He gets to feel safe around them. Why? Because then he can, uh, reproduce. Make little werefrights that look like the host, so they fit in the human community. So they're safe. That's how it's supposed to work. That's what the stalking's really all about."

"Host?" Dean queried, suspiciously. "Whaddya mean 'host'?"

"It's how a werefright breeds," Sam explained, matter-of-factly. "Looks like they need a human host to reproduce."

Dean shivered. "Sounds kinda nasty," he said.

"No, Dean, not nasty," Sam insisted. "It's just nature. Plenty things work that way."

Dean looked disgusted. "Yech! Things maybe, but you're talking 'bout ME, man."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "Talking 'bout you, Dean."

"Where'd you get that stuff anyways?" Dean asked.

"Put two and two together," Sam explained. "From experience."

Dean still seemed dubious. Sam took a drink of his tea and continued.

"You've met Pamela's kid Jesse?"

"Sure..." Dean replied slowly.

"Well, he's not Pamela's," Sam said, lifting his shirt to show him the scar on his abdomen. "You remember that 'stomach ache' I had?"

Dean's eyes widened. "Jeez, Sam. Whaddya saying?"

"I'm saying Jesse is our kid, Dean. Ours. You bit me and..."

Dean pushed back from the table abruptly and scrubbed his hands through his hair, at a loss for the words to respond to that revelation.

"Holy Crap!" he finally blurted out. "And that was cos I, what, bit you, man? What the hell...! And what does that make me? Some kinda parasite? Jeez!"

Sam smiled and pulled his chair closer, placing a reassuring hand on Dean's knee.

"I reckon we should bring him live with us, Dean," he said quietly. "I figure he oughta grow up knowing what he is. He needs you to be there for him."

Dean shook his head vehemently. "That poor freakin' kid. No way, man. No way."

He got up and walked away. Sam sighed. He wished Dean had taken the news better, that it had given him hope.

Perhaps he should have kept his mouth shut a little longer.

-~=O=~-

It was early morning, not yet fully light. After dawn but not yet sunrise. They were driving north, Dean at the wheel, Sam dozing in the back. It had been a long drive and Dean's eyelids were drooping as he stared at the featureless road ahead.

Suddenly there was a bump on the Impala's back fender. Dean snapped awake. Sam grumbled on the back seat.

"Sonova..." Dean growled, glaring in his mirror.

Behind him was the black Mustang, Kubrick's ride.

"Sam!" Dean yelled just as the Ford bumped them a second time.

This time Sam woke up startled. "What the...?"

"It's Kubrick. That son of a freakin' bitch," Dean answered, tersely.

The Mustang drew level on the inside, and attempted to nudge the Impala off of the road. Dean struggled to keep control of his car, but ended up driving them into the ditch. Kubrick parked just ahead. He got out and marched back toward them, shotgun raised to eye level.

Dean and Sam slid out of opposite doors of the Impala, hands up, like that was going to mean anything to Kubrick.

"OK. We've danced around long enough," Kubrick snarled. "Time to crap or get off of the can."

"Just let Sam go," Dean demanded, completely calm. "He's not your problem."

"Filthy monster-lover," Kubrick spat, eyeing him along the barrel. "It's freakin' liberals like him gonna mean the end of the God-given human damn race."

"There's room for everyone," Sam declared, advancing a few steps, drawing level with Dean.

"Got myself a round for you too, bud," Kubrick drawled.

Sam stole a glance at his step-brother, and was shocked by his look of steely composure in the face of disaster. Sam realized that he was trembling like an aspen leaf. Dean? He was deathly still, his breathing slow and deep. His eyes were cold and dark, no hint of fear.

Dean was beyond that now. He was beyond uncertainty. Sam had the strange feeling he was looking at a panther, claws metaphorically unsheathed, muscles tense, ready to desperately defend its own to the death, poised to spring.

"Go ahead, punk. Make my day," Kubrick chuckled acidly.

Dean sprang, flying through the air onto the shocked gunman, knocking him flat on his back. Kubrick discharged his shotgun once before it was knocked out of his hand. Then they were writhing on the ground, Kubrick struggling to hold Dean off as he inched his fingertips toward his gun.

Sam dived in the Impala to grab Dean's pistol from the glove box. While he scrabbled around, the shotgun went off behind him. He cursed. Dean and Kubrick were laying on the road in a heap, unmoving. Sam inhaled through his teeth.

"Dean!" he gasped, bounding over.

Kubrick had been taken unaware, so convinced that a werefright was incapable of caring. He had expected Dean to try to save himself, not throw away his life in a reckless attempt to save his friend. Dean had unhesitatingly made that sacrifice for Sam. Any lingering doubts that Sam might have had flew away in that moment.

Sam dragged the two men apart. Dean's body was covered in blood. Kubrick clutched at a gaping wound in his chest. Sam grasped Dean's shoulders and turned him over to look at his face. His pupils were blown wide and black. He pulled him up against his shoulder.

"No... Dean..." he whispered.

Over his shoulder, Dean's eyes closed and his pupils returned to normal. His body relaxed into Sam, and he slumped against him for a moment before collecting himself and pulling up straight.

"Hey ya, Sammy," he said.

Sam's mouth dropped open. Dean stared at Kubrick, who had crawled over to lie against the fender of his Mustang. The scumbag spluttered, as blood seeped from the corner of his mouth, and he winced with the pain. Dark red blood leaked into his shirt. It was obvious that he was as good as toast.

Dean's nemesis chuckled, coughing with the pang it sent through him.

"Before I go, there's one more thing I gotta tell ya, Deano. One more thing ya oughta know," he rasped.

Dean and Sam exchanged a look, before Dean went over to kneel by Kubrick's side.

"What?" he snarled.

Kubrick grinned grimly and leaned close to whisper right in Dean's ear.

"Luke, I am your father!" he breathed.

"The hell!" Dean snapped, recoiling from him.

Kubrick struggled on. "Montgomery... bit me... Michelle cut damn thing out... Told her destroy... She gave it to HIM... John hadn't found it... never have known," he gasped.

"He's delirious," Sam remarked, seeing the disbelieving expression on Dean's face.

Kubrick lifted the corner of his blood-sodden shirt off of his abdomen, to reveal a long-healed, faded scar, a scar just like Sam's.

"No!" Dean gulped, horrified. What the hell did he mean? How could it be possible?

"Brought you... into this world... Have a right... take you out," Kubrick growled, as he exhaled his final breath.

"Bastard!" Sam muttered, fingering the scar under his own shirt.

Sam had never for one moment thought of hurting Jesse. How could this guy have hated what he had made so much? Sure, it had freaked him out at first but... no, he could never.

He grabbed Dean's arm and pulled him to his feet, still dazed.

"Gotta get outta here," he snapped.

TBC

* * *

><p>AN: Now I hope that was a fun surprise. It even snuck up on me. ;)


	21. One Snowy Night

Summary: Sam was a boringly regular guy. Best friend and sometime step-brother, Dean, was something different. When a hunter comes along, they hit the road. It turns out to be a long journey. AU Sam/Dean unrel slash, full SPN cast no OCs. Warnings: suicide dub-con mpreg.

* * *

><p>The Monster's Child (Chapter 21: One Snowy Night) by frostygossamer<p>

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><p>It was a damn cold night, colder than it had been all month. The weather forecast warned of drifts and white-outs. Sam woke about one o'clock and had a real eerie feeling that he was all alone in their rented house. He checked Dean's room. No Dean. He pulled on some jeans and a sweater and checked outside. Footprints led from the door out into the yard and then disappeared under the growing snowdrift.<p>

"Hell," Sam muttered. "Thought Dean'd been too good. Why the hell pick a night like this to decide to run out on me?"

He grabbed his boots and put them on, struggled into his big winter coat and strode out into the strangely luminous moonlit snow. After a desperate half hour he realised he was getting nowhere, so he made his way to the neighbours' house and knocked them awake. The husband appeared at the door in his pajamas and overcoat looking half asleep.

"My step-brother's gotten himself lost in the snow," Sam shouted over the blizzard. "He sleep walks, d'ya see. I'm kinda afraid... in this weather..."

Concern filled the neighbour's face. "Oh Hell! Night like this is no time to be wandering," he agreed. "You want help looking for him?"

The neighbour called his wife and two grown sons, and all five of them were soon scouring the area for signs of Dean. After what seemed like an eternity too long, one of the boys gave a yell.

"Found him!" he shouted. "He's in the old barn."

Sam ran toward the sound of his voice.

The old barn was a flimsy, ramshackle construction, barely standing and offering no shelter against the weather. Dean was curled up against the back wall, dressed only in his sleep clothes, unresponsive. When Sam touched him there was no reaction, and his skin was cold as ice.

"Oh Dean," Sam whispered. "This isn't fair on me, you know? You're gonna break my heart like this."

They carried the apparently unconscious Dean back in Sam's house and laid him on the couch in front of the fireplace. Sam's neighbour quickly got the fire restarted, while his wife made everyone hot chocolate. Sam crouched beside the couch rubbing Dean's hand the way he'd seen someone do in a movie. It seemed kind of pointless but he didn't know what else to do.

One of the sons came back in the room with a bunch of blankets he'd grabbed from a bedroom.

"You wanna get him outta those wet things and into these," he told Sam.

Sam did as he was told. Dean was only in his shorts and a T-shirt, and they were wet through.

They all sat round a while drinking their chocolate, until Dean began to twitch and moan. Sam poured a hot drink and lifted Dean's head so he could take a little.

"Here," he said. "Have a sip of this. It'll warm you up some."

Dean was still disoriented. "Still here, huh?" he asked wryly.

"Yup," Sam replied. "Time you realized. You're stuck here until I say so, bro."

Sam wiped a dribble of chocolate from the corner of Dean's mouth with an affectionate thumb. The neighbour coughed awkwardly and glanced at his wife.

"Guess we should get on back," he said. "It's kinda late."

Sam nodded and murmured his thanks, and they all let themselves out and went home.

"That's it, buddy," Sam mock-reproved. "Now you're shaming me in front of the neighbours."

"Jerk-ass," Dean retorted.

Sam sat and looked at his step-brother gravely for a few moments. He knew what was on Dean's mind.

"It wasn't your fault, Dean," he said. "HE came after YOU."

"He was my father," Dean murmured.

Sam shook his head. "No, Dean. John was your father. John loved you, dude. And Montgomery too. He wanted you. Mom totally doted on you. Kubrick wasn't crap to you. All he ever felt was hate. Don't sweat it, bro. That guy was the monster, not you."

Dean didn't look like he took much comfort from that, just the same. Sam put another log on the fire, then paused thoughtfully.

"Gonna make you a promise," he said grimly. "If it ever looks like you'd be better off dead, I will take you out. Just let it be MY call. Need you to swear you won't ever try anything stupid again. Not ever. This has gotta be the LAST time."

"Can't do that, Sam," Dean protested, staring sadly at his chocolate.

Sam grabbed his friend's chin and forced him to look in his eyes.

"Trust me," Sam pleaded. "We can't go on this way, Dean. You mean way too much to me, man. It's your choice, but you gotta let ME be the method."

Dean sighed. "Sure," he agreed wearily. "Trust you, Sam. Guess I swear."

Sam smiled and enveloped him in a rough hug.

"Won't let you down, Dean. You have my word," he said. "C'mon let's get some shut-eye."

-~=O=~-

Sam woke again about dawn and knew something was wrong. He got out of bed and walked in Dean's room, where he found Dean curled up tight into himself in the middle of his bed, trembling. Sam had never seen anything more wretched in his life. He walked up to his friend and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"It's OK, Dean," he whispered. "I'm not gonna let anything bad happen to you. No way."

Sam wasn't even sure Dean could comprehend his words when he was in this state, not knowing if he was talking to his darkside or dayside, but saying them seemed to be the right thing to do.

A single, strangled sob escaped his step-brother's lips and Sam's heart clenched. He stretched his arms around Dean's shoulders and pulled him tight against his chest.

"It's gonna be fine," he whispered, stroking Dean's hair.

They stayed like that for ten minutes or so, Dean with his face pressed against Sam's neck, and Sam could feel the wetness of his tears dampening his skin.

"We're gonna be fine, Dean," he assured him gently. "You and me. That's how it's meant to be, man."

"I'm just some gross thing" Dean gasped suddenly, brokenly. "A goddamn parasite."

"Oh, Dean," Sam replied softly. "We're not talking Ripley and the alien here. You give me as much as I give you, man. They call that symbiosis. It's a good thing."

He stayed until Dean drifted off to sleep and then went back to his own bed.

-~=O=~-

It was almost noon when Sam finally stirred for the third time and found a strange weight pressing against his side. He opened his eyes to see Dean curled up against him tightly. His friend's chest rose and fell in regular respiration. He was sleeping peacefully.

This had never happened before. Sam had experienced night-time encounters with Dean's dark side, but Dean had always crawled away to a corner to hibernate as soon as it was over. He had never before crawled in his bed in his nightwear just to sleep. Sam had never woken up with Dean by his side like this. This was new.

Dean stirred vaguely and pressed his face into Sam's neck, growling softly against his skin. Sam reached up and hesitantly began to stroke his companion's hair. It felt good, this closeness, this sense that Dean was now beginning to trust him in his instinctual state. It seemed to indicate that he was settling into their relationship, knowing intuitively that Sam would be his partner, his mate.

Sam breathed a little sigh. Finally they had found some peace. He kissed Dean on the top of his head. Dean purred quietly, making Sam smile.

"Morning, Dean," he whispered.

Dean lifted his head and regarded Sam with sleepy eyes.

"Not where I went to sleep," he remarked.

"Sure it is, Dean," Sam replied.

Dean looked bewildered for a second then relaxed, turning over away from Sam, but staying close enough that they still touched.

"Guess I'm OK if you are, Sammy," he murmured as he drifted off again.

Sam chuckled and answered, "You're welcome."

TBC

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><p>AN: Bit of a soppy interlude this time. But it's not over yet!


	22. LongDistance Train

Summary: Sam was a boringly regular guy. Best friend and sometime step-brother, Dean, was something different. When a hunter comes along, they hit the road. It turns out to be a long journey. AU Sam/Dean unrel slash, full SPN cast no OCs. Warnings: suicide dub-con mpreg.

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><p>The Monster's Child (Chapter 22: Long-Distance Train) by frostygossamer<p>

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><p>A few nights later, they were laying together on the hood of the Impala in the middle of nowhere, staring at the stars.<p>

"Reckon it's time you took off back home, Sam. I can take it from here," Dean said unexpectedly. "Need to get as far away from me as you can. Hang out with a werefright, you're gonna get hurt. Don't wanna hurt you. You read the stories. Gonna end in grief, Sam. You know the score."

Sam was taken by surprise by this outburst. He had thought they were doing OK.

"That's not how I see it, Dean," he insisted. "Those stories, they're just propaganda. It's what the farmer says about the wolf. You're not hearing the wolf's side."

Dean shook his head sadly and sat up. He glanced over at Sam and nudged him idly with his foot.

"Oh yeah, research guy? So how would you tell it?" he demanded.

Sam stood up and turned to face Dean, arms folded, like a college professor about to give a class. He knew he was going to have to lay this out for Dean so that he could take it in and get past it, like Sam already had. He had to make Dean see that this 'legend' was just a bunch of crap and that there would be no problems living with it. Not when they were both up to speed.

"OK. This is back in old Eastern Europe centuries ago. So the lore's not exactly science, more hearsay. You with me?"

Dean nodded. Sam continued.

"Lore says the werefright starts out just like any other human kid, up till he's maybe twenty-five years old, and then he changes, matures. He starts to haunt around the district, eventually latches onto some innocent villager, and one dark night he jumps his victim and slaughters them, eats their heart, drinks their blood."

"Peachy," Dean snarked. Sam shook his head.

"That's ONLY if the victim fights back, tries to defend themselves. If he's lucky he'll pick on a victim not capable of fighting back, a young girl, a simpleton, a kid. If they put up no resistance the first time, then he stalks them, haunts them. The victim gets scared as hell."

"Awesome," Dean commented. "Dean," Sam warned him and continued.

"If the victim's family and friends realize what's going on, then they'll try to stop him, maybe gank him. If that fails the victim gets sent to an asylum or a convent, or whatever, for their own protection, probably crazy by now anyways, maybe close to suicide."

"Better and better," Dean remarked. "There's more," declared Sam.

"If the folks DON'T cotton on, he makes his next move, bites his victim. Then his spawn grows inside, pollutes their system, destroys their organs and bursts out of their body, causing death and leading to more stories about feeding on humans."

"Sam," Dean protested. "Wait," ordered Sam.

"The kid is always cute because otherwise it's gonna get ganked. If it's cute enough someone will protect it, bring it up. And the cycle starts again."

"So what about that horror story sounds good to you?" Dean asked, exasperated. "Dude, it sounds goddamn nightmarish to me."

Sam sat back down on the Impala's hood beside his step-brother.

"Like I said. That's the propaganda," he insisted. "Take out the bad luck and the prejudice and you've got an entirely different story."

"Seriously, man? So then you've got what?" Dean demanded.

Sam sighed. "OK. So the werefright matures, and then all he's gotta do is find himself a host, someone WILLING to play along."

"Like Kubrick's wife?" Dean suggested. "Montgomery almost made it, 'cept for Kubrick getting in the way, literally."

"Sure," Sam agreed. "Guess Michelle was the host Montgomery wanted. She wanted it too. Kubrick interrupted at just the wrong time. Ended up on the pointy end of some sharp-ass teeth."

"Hmm," Dean murmured thoughtfully, remembering how it had gone down between him and Sam.

"Reckon Michelle and Montgomery coulda worked out", Sam continued. "Yeah, pick the right host and then there's no need for the violence, no need for the stalking. No one else gotta know, no one got reason to interfere, no stress."

He grinned. "Time comes when the werefright's ready to do the bitey thing, just gotta be sure the foetus is removed BEFORE it gets dangerous for the host. Easier than a regular C-section. I oughta know. Then the kid can grow up with it's own kind. And the cycle starts again, only this time there's no harm, no problem."

Dean shrugged. "Sounds a little too easy," he said doubtfully.

"It's what we got, Dean," Sam pointed out. "It's totally doable."

Dean was thoughtful for a moment.

"And you're OK with that?" he asked, somewhat skeptical.

"Sure, Dean," Sam answered. "Thought about it long and hard and, yeah, I'm up for it, totally. We can do this, have done this."

Dean lay back on the hood and was silent for a while. Sam lay back down beside him and studied the sky, waiting for Dean's verdict.

"And we CAN have normal, near enough, if that's what you want, Dean."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "Guess I do."

-~=O=~-

Stopping at a gas station for supplies, Sam found a tiny piece in the local newspaper about some guy being found by the side of the road, shot dead with his own gun, police not looking for anyone.

"Looks like the cops have Kubrick down as a suicide," Sam remarked.

"Cops love them an open-and-shut suicide case," Dean agreed.

"Hmm," Sam mused. "Guess we can stop running now, huh?"

"And what? Find ourselves a house in the 'burbs?" Dean retorted snarkily.

"Sure. Why not? Something with a big back yard, so you can play ball with Jesse, and a big old tree," Sam suggested.

Dean couldn't stop a smile at that image pulling on the corners of his mouth.

"Yeah. Why not?"

So they rented a nice suburban place in Cicero using their real names, because it was totally cool now, and started to get the house ready. They were going to bring Jesse to live with them and be a family together, which seemed weird yet kind of nice. It wasn't how either of them had expected their life to be, but it was... fine.

When they had gotten the house how they wanted it, they drove down to Pamela's place to pick up their son. Their son. Jesse toddled out of Pamela's hands and wrapped himself around Dean's legs, laughing happily.

"Thanks," Sam said to Pamela. "Without you we would never have had this."

"Don't mention it," Pamela replied. "And next time you have a close encounter of the seventh kind you got my number, honey."

Dean strapped Jesse in the kiddie car seat he had just bought with some pride.

"So what's the seventh kind?" he asked, as he got in the Impala beside Sam.

"Alien sex," Sam replied dryly.

Dean made a disgusted face. "Ew!"

"Hey, don't be so modest," Sam chuckled.

Dean raised a scandalized eyebrow.

"By the way," Sam began, as Dean started up the Impala. "Gotta ask, you bitten anyone else? Any more baby Deans out there?"

"Hell no," Dean snorted. "What am I, some kinda rabid yorkie?"

"Glad to hear it," Sam chuckled.

They took Jesse back to Cicero and settled down to live like regular people. Ready to cope with whatever other weirdness a full-grown werefright's life might throw at them.

But the story wasn't finished yet.

-~=O=~-

A week later a long-distance train pulled in at the railroad station. A man dressed inconspicuously in a trench coat and shabby suit stepped down from the train.

Mr. T didn't care for flying... by airplane.

He had a look of cold determination in his eyes and an address in his pocket.

Mr. T was a billionaire. He was bored with the everyday excesses of a rich man's life, drink, drugs, women, fast cars, speedboats, private jets. He yearned for something more. He had begun by using his enormous fortune to collect the rare and beautiful, art, architecture, artefacts. But he had tired with them too.

So now he collected the weird and strange. He had a unique collection of trophies, of fabulous creatures from all over the world. And he had his sights on Dean. The morality of this meant nothing to him. He wasn't a mere human. He was a high-functioning sociopath.

Kubrick had contacted Mr. T when he had first gotten out of prison and gone looking for Dean. It had been the billionaire's money and resources that had allowed Kubrick to find Dean and Sam time and again, and thwart the cops when they took him into custody over his parole violation.

Kubrick's deal had been that he would get to kill Dean himself, and then he would hand his corpse over to Mr. T. Without his help, Kubrick would have failed in his murderous hunt. But now Kubrick was dead and Mr. T was going to have to make the kill himself.

The train station was almost a half hour's drive from Sam and Dean's new home. Mr. T had found the address easily, as they were using their own names again. He hailed a taxi and got in. The chase was nearly over. Soon he would be on his way back home with his trophy, all fresh in a nice cool-box, on the seat beside him.

TBC

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><p>AN: He's not your cuddly Mr. T. This one's been missing from the story so far. Now he turns up in unexpected guise. ;)


	23. Backyard Hero

Summary: Sam was a boringly regular guy. Best friend and sometime step-brother, Dean, was something different. When a hunter comes along, they hit the road. It turns out to be a long journey. AU Sam/Dean unrel slash, full SPN cast no OCs. Warnings: suicide dub-con mpreg.

* * *

><p>AN: Guessed who Mr. T is yet?

* * *

><p>The Monster's Child (Chapter 23: Backyard Hero) by frostygossamer<p>

* * *

><p>Dean was in the back yard of the house putting together a swing set, while Sam popped out to the store with Jesse. He suddenly became aware of an unfamiliar presence behind him. He turned around slowly to find a slight, trench-coated guy standing between him and the house. The guy was shorter than Dean and he just stood there, his head tilted to one side, staring at him with a piercing blue gaze.<p>

Dean's eyes narrowed. "Hi," he said suspiciously. "You looking for someone, buddy?"

The visitor remained silent for a moment, then took a step toward him, bringing what looked like a taser from his pocket.

Dean stood up and took a step backward.

"Look, buddy," he said. "Don't want any trouble..."

The intruder sighed and rolled his eyes. "I don't think you should make this any harder than it needs to be," he replied, in a mechanical tone.

Dean wasn't about to try and rush a man with a stun gun if he didn't have to, so he tried to prevaricate as he edged toward the gate.

"Got money," he suggested, "inside the house."

The intruder chuckled mirthlessly. "I don't need money, werefright," he said, flatly. "My name is Tiel, Cas Tiel. You can call me Cas, if I can call you Dean. I'm a billionaire, Dean. And you have something more valuable to me that money."

"And what's that?" Dean asked.

"Your head," Cas stated coldly. "For my trophy room."

Dean gasped. One of his worst nightmares was coming true. He fought to control his panic as he continued to edge toward escape. Until he came up against the tree.

"Don't try anything, my friend. I don't want to damage your handsome head," Cas said, voice devoid of emotion. "I want it to look good on my wall. I'm going to mount it right between my Bigfoot and my Yeti."

Dean thought quickly. What if Sam came home with Jesse and walked straight into danger? What if Cas knew that Jesse was his kid and a werefright too? He had to act right now. He could maybe take this guy in his darkside form. But what if he lost control completely without Sam around? Well, either way, if he died taking Cas with him, then Sam and Jesse would be safe.

Damn! And just when he had started to think he didn't want to die.

Dean snarled, allowing the darkness to flow into him. He glared at Cas, a dark hatred in his eyes. He steeled himself for action, like a tigress revving up to defend her young. He would give himself to the dark side and he wouldn't stop until he felt his teeth sink into the bastard's jugular, until he knew he had choked the pitiless life out of him.

He surged forward but, before he had got up enough momentum, Cas hit him with a taser shot, the barbs embedding in his chest.

"Ah, the heart," Cas smirked. "A few ounces of muscle and gore. Why humans call it their seat of emotion, the fount of love, I can but speculate. All it looks like to you and me is a hot lunch."

Repeated electroshocks ran through Dean's body, blasting every ganglion, lighting up every nerve ending. He sobbed as pain racked his body.

"Perhaps you're hoping for sympathy, Dean?" Cas asked grimly. "Sympathy is one of their weird-ass human emotions I've never understood, intangible, unbelievable, ridiculous. Like it's going to help them stay alive."

Dean's muscles tensed convulsively and he howled in frustration, collapsing against the trunk of the old tree. But still he fought against the agony like he was possessed.

"People tell me I'm not really human," Cas chuckled. "But I do have some feelings, Dean. I know there's nothing like the high of squeezing out a life, feeling it slip away in your hands, seeing the light fade from their eyes, smelling their fear, tasting their last breath. That's some feeling."

Dean steadied his back against the tree, the wind knocked out of his lungs by the force of the shocks, his eyes swimming. Summoning every shred of his strength he made one last desperately brave effort and hurled himself on his sicko assailant.

At that very moment, Dean and his inner being were united in a single purpose. He was going to die, but he was taking that douchebag with him. For Jesse. For Sam.

Then, totally out of nowhere, a guy stepped up behind him and walloped him over the head with a 2-by-4, knocking him to the ground.

-~=O=~-

Cas lay sprawled out on the dirt, unconscious. A middle-aged, bearded guy in an FBI cap stood over him, holding a wood board. Behind him stood Sam carrying Jesse in his arms, with a concerned look clouding his face.

Dean straightened up and shook the dark shadow out of his mind. Sam was safe. Jesse was safe. His attacker was out cold. But who the hell was this new guy?

The bearded man dropped his piece of lumber and walked over, reaching in his pocket for his id. He held it up for Dean to see.

"Special Agent Robert Singer," he said. "I'm with the FBI. I lead a task force that's been on this idjit's trail for the longest time. He's been a person of interest in a number of apparently random contract killings over several years. I'm sorry, sir, that we were forced to use your family as bait to tempt him out into the open."

Dean slid down the tree trunk onto the ground with a groan, as the agent bent to helpfully remove the barbs from his chest. That single word 'family' floated across Dean's inner consciousness. It sounded good even from a stranger's lips.

"Ya see, Mr. Cas Tiel has always kept his own hands clean as a preacher's underdrawers. It's known he uses free-lance operatives to do his dirty work. We've not been able to stop him till now because we have as much clue how he chooses his targets as a bloodhound with a head cold. That and because he's so goddamn mega-rich he has the best legal team in the country on speed dial."

Sam hurried over to Dean with Jesse. He cradled Dean's neck with his free hand, staring into his eyes, searching to see who was home.

"You OK, Dean?" he asked carefully, looking very worried.

"Yeah, Sam, I'm fine, just a little fricasseed," Dean responded, wryly. "You and Jesse OK?"

"Sure, we're fine, Dean," Sam replied. "Agent Singer's men stopped us outside. They've gotten the whole block cordoned off like in 'Dog Day Afternoon'. Was afraid you'd be freaked by The Man closing in on you, dude."

Dean chuckled. "Kinda had my own mini-crisis to deal with."

"I'm very grateful for your help," Singer continued. "We were ready to use any means available to capture this perp. I'm very sorry we had to put you in any jeopardy, Mr. Winchester, you and your, uh..."

He waved a hand between Dean and Sam.

"Step-brother," Dean supplied.

"And partner," Sam added, causing Dean to chuckle inwardly a little.

The older guy adjusted his cap. "Yeah, well, uh... very sorry."

As Singer pulled Cas to his feet and slapped the cuffs on him, the crumpled guy struggled against his restraints and glared at Dean.

"You're mine, you unholy freak of nature!" he snarled.

"He was mine first," Sam retorted. "And he's no freak, he's my brother!"

Agent Singer passed Cas over into the hands of one of his men.

"Don't you worry," he assured them. "This guy's going down for life. Some raps are so heavy even money and friends in high places won't get you out from under them."

He fished around in a pocket and handed Sam his card.

"You EVER need ANY kinda help you can reach me on this number," he said. "I owe ya plenty for getting this maniac off of the streets."

Then he turned and followed his men outside to their vehicles.

"If you'll come with me please?" said a white-coated young woman, who had suddenly appeared at Dean's elbow. "I'm Dr. Roberts. Call me Carla. I just need to give you a quick exam".

Dean flinched. "No, no, I'm good," he protested.

Carla smiled politely. "Sorry, sir, but it's a necessary formality. I need to be able to certify you're unharmed as a result of today's operation."

Dean reluctantly allowed her to run a few tests.

"Everything seems fine," she pronounced, consulting her records. "Ooh, I see here that your last physician, a Dr. Death, diagnosed you as a mosaic. That's very interesting."

With that casual comment she picked up her things and hurried off.

"Wait. What was that? Mosaic?" Sam queried, and hurried after her.

-~=O=~-

Jesse was asleep on Sam's lap by the time everyone was gone. Dean carried him upstairs and put him gently in his kiddie-sized bed. He stood for a minute looking down at him thoughtfully. Sam came up from behind and peered over his shoulder.

"He looks so much like you," Dean remarked, feeling awestruck.

"I guess," Sam admitted. "But he's got something of you about him too. He's a little of both of us."

"Run that by me again, the mosaic thing?" Dean asked.

"The way the doc told it, a mosaic is a mash-up of two different kinda cells," Sam recalled and paraphrased. "A werefright, I guess, must be something like that, only a mix-up of human and non-human cells. Jesse's gotten some werefright from you, but mostly human from us both. You're built outta werefright from Montgomery, and human from him and you-know-who."

"Kubrick," Dean growled.

"Yep," Sam agreed. "That's why you look kinda like him, light brown hair, fair skin. Spooky Kubrick was a good-looking guy too, if you could get past the mission-from-God complex and the narrow-minded racism."

Dean shrugged. "Just hope I didn't inherit any of that crap."

"Nah. Reckon you're more like Montgomery," Sam chuckled. "He was a nice guy but kinda fucked up."

"Sounds a lot like me," Dean agreed.

He leaned back into Sam. Sam smiled and put his lips close to Dean's ear.

"You wanna go have hero sex, hero guy?" he whispered.

"Sam!" Dean protested. "I don't do guys."

"This guy you do," Sam pointed out. "C'mon. I'll be gentle."

He led Dean to his bedroom like a lamb and closed the door, leaving it open just a crack, in case Jesse should wake.

TBC

* * *

><p>AN: I couldn't resist attempting a scientific explanation. Mosaic people do exist but not like this, naturally. Final episode tomorrow, if FF holds together.


	24. All Together Now

Summary: Sam was a boringly regular guy. Best friend and sometime step-brother, Dean, was something different. When a hunter comes along, they hit the road. It turns out to be a long journey. AU Sam/Dean unrel slash, full SPN cast no OCs. Warnings: suicide dub-con mpreg.

* * *

><p>AN: Apologies to Castiel fans for making him the baddie in the last chapter. Now on with the final part...

* * *

><p>The Monster's Child (Chapter 24: All Together Now) by frostygossamer<p>

* * *

><p>Sam slipped off his clothes and began to undress Dean. Dean let him. He didn't really feel like objecting. He did feel like having himself some loving. He had had a tough day.<p>

Sam climbed on the bed and Dean climbed on with him. His step-brother wrapped his long arms around him and it felt safe and good. He could feel Sam's heartbeat against his chest, loved the warmth and smell of his skin. So familiar. He nuzzled his face in Sam's hair, drinking in his scent, and Sam chuckled sexily.

"Comfortable?" Sam asked.

"Hmm," Dean murmured in reply.

Soft lips found his and Dean suddenly realized it had been a long, long time since he had kissed anyone, even longer since he had wanted to be kissed as much as he did right then. As he gave himself to the kiss, he felt big, strong, firm hands begin to roam over his body. He couldn't help but be aroused.

"Sammy," he gasped, a little shocked that a man could make him feel that way.

"Good, huh?" Sam responded softly.

In the back of Dean's mind, the darkness stirred and unfurled, drawn by the accustomed touch. But he wouldn't give himself up to it. Not yet. He wanted to have this closeness. He wanted to feel it, to know it. He wanted Sam to be with HIM tonight.

As those thoughts flowed through his head, and he relaxed into the moment, Dean knew that the darkness would obey. Because now it was HIS darkness, part of him, no longer a stranger.

"Just lay back and let ME do the loving this time, D," Sam murmured, his voice like warm honey.

Dean laid his head back against his pillows and gazed up at Sam bending over him. He was beautiful like the sky, sunny and warm. Sam leaned in and began to trail hot, wet kisses across Dean's chest. Dean closed his eyes, and felt the kisses march slowly across his stomach, inching deliciously toward his stirring groin.

As soft lips teased his manhood, Dean inhaled sharply, and then sighed as he felt himself bathed by the moist heat of his lover's tongue. He stopped breathing.

Sam paused the wicked thing he was doing to him and looked up.

"Hey, Dean, you still there?" he asked quietly, and tenderly placed a kiss on Dean's belly.

"Yeah, man, I'm here," Dean replied, almost breathless.

Sam caressed his inner thigh with seductive fingertips. Dean couldn't suppress a whimper.

"Hi there," Sam whispered. "Thought maybe you'd flipped out."

Dean stretched a little, catlike.

"No, Sammy," he murmured. "We're right here, man. Not going anywhere."

Slip of the tongue maybe, maybe not.

Sam smiled. "That's fine. I can totally rock a threesome, boys," he chuckled.

Dean combed his fingers through Sam's hair and his inner shadow purred along.

"He loves you, you know," he whispered very softly.

"Does he?" Sam grinned. "Same here."

Sam continued where he had been interrupted, applying his clever mouth to Dean's most intimate skin. He soon had Dean growling and arching his back, lost in waves of newfound ecstasy. Sam hummed around his manhood, sweetly upping his peculiar pleasure.

Dean's darkside writhed, as the glow of its rapture grew in him fast. Soon he could hold it no longer and he surrendered to a rush of pure joy. He sighed as Sam let go his spent member and moved up to lie beside him, his tousled head on Dean's shoulder.

"Shouldn't have done that," Dean murmured.

"Why not?" Sam asked absently, nestling against him.

"You're my step-brother, Sam. Your mom woulda thrown a fit."

"And your dad woulda thrown a fist," Sam chuckled. "Dude, we're not illegal. But... it wouldn't've stopped me anyways. I love you, man."

Dean turned and stared into his eyes for a moment, before rolling into a kiss.

"Mmm. You're a big boy, Sammy," he purred, feeling Sam's arousal rub up against him. "Wanna feel my mouth on you too?"

"Uh-huh. Love that. He's so good," Sam agreed.

"You're making me jealous," Dean pouted.

"Don't be jealous, D," Sam soothed him. "Just let him show you how."

Sam lay back and let Dean take charge. He didn't mind which Dean he was right then. He trusted both aspects of his partner, and he cared for both of them equally and as one. Because he knew now that there could be no dayside Dean without darkside Dean. They were just two halves of the guy he loved. The guy he had loved since the day they met, back when he was eight years old.

Afterward they lay together silently for a while, listening to their mutual breathing.

"Sammy," Dean whispered softly against Sam's chest. "He's not the only one loves you."

Sam smiled, stroking his lover's hair. "I know it, Dean."

After a while, Sam noticed that Dean seemed far away in his own thoughts again, not always a good sign.

"What you thinking 'bout?" he asked quietly.

Dean sighed and turned over to face him.

"Just thinking 'bout the future," he said.

Sam chuckled. "Not so long ago you reckoned you had no future, Dean. Things have definitely gotten better."

Dean smiled sadly. "Just remembered you told me once a werefright can live maybe two hundred years. Two hundred years is a long time. Way too long."

Sam knew what he was getting at. He smiled reassuringly.

"I can give you forty, fifty good years, Dean," he said. "Maybe more. That's a lifetime. And I'll make sure, when I do go, you can come with me. I promise. I'll make sure it's easy for you. I won't leave you behind if you don't want it."

Dean smiled and leaned up to kiss him on the temple.

"Good," he said. "Cos that's what I'd want, Sammy."

He relaxed, now that was settled, and tucked his face into the crook of Sam's neck.

"And, anyway," Sam added mischievously, "you'll have the kids, and maybe grandkids."

"Kids? Grandkids?" Dean repeated, mildly outraged. "Sam, I don't think..."

"Jesse. He's gonna need family," his partner pointed out.

"Sam! This is not a goddamn rare species breeding program, dude," Dean admonished.

"Ya don't think?" Sam chuckled. "Don't mind doing my bit for biodiversity."

"Seriously? You want a whole bunch of freak kids?" Dean demanded incredulously.

"Now who's the racist?" Sam smirked. "Dude, some day a werefright could be president."

Dean shook his head affectionately. "Sam, you're such a dork sometimes."

"Sweet talker," Sam grinned. "Now go to sleep, jerk."

Dean smiled and let Sam snuggle into him. "Bitch," he murmured.

He liked to get the last word.

-~=O=~-

It was midnight. Dean was alone in the depths of the forest. His heart was pounding as he stumbled through the undergrowth, his legs exhausted from running.

"Even a man who is pure in heart, and says his prayers by night..."

Running, headlong, breathless, branches crunching beneath his feet, hunter hot on his trail. Close now, very close. His panting the only sound. No place left to run, no escape. Cornered, trapped. Turning, teeth bared, snarling, gonna die fighting.

"...may become a wolf when the wolfbane blooms, and the autumn moon is bright."

A man with a shotgun, silver bullet in the chamber, face morphing from love to hate: Sam, John, Kubrick, Cas Tiel, raising his weapon, aiming...

BANG!

Dean's eyes flew open, the morning sunshine hitting his eyelids like a rifle flash. He shot into a sitting position, inhaling sharply and squinting around the room in panic. All was silent. He was in bed. Sam was laying beside him fast asleep. The clock on the nightstand ticked reassuringly. Everything was fine. It had been a dream. Just another dream.

Dean sighed. Too much late night TV. He glanced down at Sam and gently brushed a stray lock of hair from his partner's face. Sam opened his eyes and smiled up at him, rolling toward Dean to wrap an arm around his waist.

"Bad one, huh?" he asked.

"Mmm. Another werewolf classic," Dean agreed.

"'I Was a Teenage Werewolf'?" Sam suggested, with a chuckle.

"Something like that," Dean replied.

Sam grinned. "You gotta give up those horror marathons, Dean."

Dean chuckled. "Love me some horror, Sam. Just so long as it's only celluloid."

Two months in, they were both feeling like they had found the perfect happy ending. Dean was learning to accept what he was and what he was capable of, such as his greater than human strength and his enhanced senses. There were still things to discover about what it was to be a werefright, but he and Sam were discovering them together. It wasn't so scary any more.

They had something good now that looked pretty normal to the outside world and felt pretty normal too. Aside from the looking like a gay couple, which still niggled Dean some. Sam pointing out that he wasn't technically a boy, since werewrights didn't breed the regular way, didn't help. But Sam's unconditional love certainly did.

"Lemme go check on Jesse", Dean whispered, slipping out of their bed and quickly pulling on his pants.

Sam chuckled and lay back to wait contentedly for his return.

Dean stealthily opened their son's bedroom door and wandered in. Jesse was sleeping peacefully, sucking his thumb. Dean gently removed the thumb from his mouth and snuggled the boy's tiny stuffed bear under his chubby little arm.

"Don't worry," he whispered to his boy. "Daddy's gonna keep you safe."

He knew Sam was right, Jesse was going to need him growing up. He wasn't going to let his son find out the truth the hard way, as he had. They would do it together, as a family.

He bent down to kiss his child on the forehead, noticing that Jesse tasted of milk, applesauce, turkey meat, sweet potato, first scent of thunderstorm and something else that was uniquely Sammy.

On the way back to Sam, he detoured via the bathroom for a quick visit. As he stooped to wash his hands under the faucet, he glanced at himself in the mirror.

He used to think he could see a little of John in his reflection. So much for that. But his dad had given him much more: a life, a childhood, his love. What had Montgomery given him? His weird-ass genes. And Kubrick?

Well, that rat had given him way more than he had ever meant: an identity and a future. All a father could want for his son. God alone knew what might have gone down if he hadn't come along. Tragedy? Probably. Somewhere down there Kubrick must have been kicking himself in the ass.

Dean stood back and gave himself a long, assessing look.

"Sam," he said a moment later, as he stood in the bedroom doorway. "I reckon we may have gotten ourselves something else to worry about."

Sam lazily turned his head on the pillows and glanced over to see Dean staring down at his own belly, stretching out the waistband of his shorts to glare accusingly at a small, round bump.

"Whaddya suppose this is?" Dean asked. "Something I swallowed?"

Sam couldn't help himself, he laughed. Life with Dean was one thrill ride.

"Dude, this is going to be EPIC!"

-~=O=~-

My name is Sam Campbell Winchester.

One night my best friend and step-brother, Dean, turned up at my door, kinda freaked out. No thunderstorm. No full moon. Turned out he was some kinda monster. A fixated, homicidal maniac and a cold-blooded psycho were close on his tail. He needed my help. It was life or death. Only I could save him.

I jumped in his car with him and headed over the horizon.

Life was never the same again. I'm not that same boring guy anymore.

And I have no regrets, not one.

I recommend choosing (c) every time.

The End

* * *

><p>AN: Couldn't resist it. Such a cute guy could only look even cuter with a baby bump. What am I saying? Tee-hee ;) Hope everyone enjoyed my fic.

Disclaimer: The rhyme "Even a man who is pure in heart..." was written by Curt Siodmak and is from the 1941 movie 'The Wolf Man'. No copyright infringement intended.


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